#But if like if you put the steve is cradling Nancy side by side with the are you ok hospital scene you could tell the differences

[jonathanbyersphd]

Thinking about how every "romantic" action Nancy performs for Steve in s4 can be viewed as maternal and what that's trying to say about St*ncy

[superblysubpar]

return to main menu // Everyone say thanks to @palmtreesx3 - I owe her and the request for the prompt "we're not really just best friends, are we?"(which isn't even used in this, but you get the picture) and The Breakfast Club for this fic 💛

Sincerely, Yours:

bestfriend!steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: a movie night, a confession, an offer, your Calvin's bunched up on the floor of your best friend's BMW...and other places | my blog and this fic are 18+ Only, NSFW

the song: Don't You (Forget About Me) by Simple Minds

words: about 6,600

warnings: "inexperienced" reader - in the form of never really making out/receiving none/not great foreplay | mentions of masturbating for comfort/ease before sex | SMUT (public - in the back of Steve's car - "caught" by Hopper when you're done / oral / fingering / steve cums in his levi's cause I'm a sucker for doing this to him, what can I say?)

He didn’t hear it at first, over the last remaining popping kernels. 

“What?” He called around a mouthful of the snack he was already dipping into before it was finished. 

In the other room, your attention was strictly on Judd Nelson, but you tried again, with no real power or meaning behind the words. 

“Want me to pause it?”

“No,” he shook his head and rolled his eyes to no one but himself in the kitchen, “Don’t think you need to pause the movie I’ve seen three times…this week.”

“I’d love one, thanks!”

Steve snorted at your response that made no sense, it becoming apparent you weren’t listening to him at all.  He should have known this was his fate after the way you acted when it was showing at The Hawk. You saw it with him, then Robin, then Nancy, and Steve put his foot down when you tried to drag him down there for a fourth time.

Now here he was, dumping the popcorn into a large bowl and watching it again. He didn’t even know what number of views he was on with you, which had him worried about your sanity, ‘cause you had to be watching it without him too. 

Steve snagged two cans of Coke out of the fridge, assuming that’s what you’d love one of, and kicked the door closed with his heel. 

He cradled the popcorn bowl against his side and held each of the cans with one hand and spread fingers, socked feet slipping on the hardwoods when he rounded the corner and saw you again. 

Despite becoming incredibly bored by the movie, he did love watching you watch it, because somehow, it’s as if you’re watching it for the first time every time. 

Your white tube socks were stark against the dark wood of the coffee table, bunching around your ankles that led him to the exposed skin of your calves. Which led to the way your blue skirt fanned over your thighs all nice, then the Queen shirt he got you for your birthday tucked into it, your thumb between your teeth with your eyebrows bunched together. 

His best friend was really fucking pretty. 

He almost said it out loud, which had him flopping onto the couch a little quickly, a little too heavy with his fall. Careless in his aim of the cushion and causing popcorn to spill from the bowl into your lap as his shoulder jostled yours. 

Before he could even say sorry, you were grabbing the popcorn from your lap like it was the bowl, blissfully unaware it wasn’t, all the while making heart eyes at dreamy Bender.

“Thanks,” your appreciation came out heavy around the buttery and salty handful of the snack, the Coke you’d love sitting on the coffee table, already forgotten.

Steve hummed, his amused lips twitched in a losing fight against a smile at your captivated stare fixated on the screen. He suppressed an eye roll at the scene about to happen, as he swiped condensation off the cool metal of the can with his thumb. 

He popped the drink open with a loud hiss, slurping his first sip - a habit you’d normally swat at his chest for - but you were too busy focusing on the words about to leave Judd’s mouth. 

“Have you ever kissed a boy on the mouth?”

They sort of just tumbled out of Steve too, while his eyes glanced over the popcorn bowl, searching for a perfectly buttery piece. Which is why he didn’t see that he, your best friend, quoting the scene that has dialogue that got you all hot and bothered more than others, had your entire body freezing. 

Steve tossed the acquired piece into the air, catching it in his mouth before he turned to face your profile. He found you with widened eyes, chest rising and falling a little too quickly, and he grinned. 

“Have you ever been felt up…over the bra…under the blouse…your shoes off, hoping to god your parents don’t walk in?”

He’s simply delighted when he quotes the scene again and your body shifts, toes curling as you arched your neck away from. You kept your eyes on the screen, not giving him the satisfaction of eye contact because of what he was slowly, finally, realizing.

You were totally turned on and he couldn’t wait to tease you about it forever.

Steve leaned in closer, whispering along with the movie, “Over the panties…no bra…blouse unbuttoned…Calvin’s in a ball on the front seat past eleven on a school night?”

He’s gearing up, about to tease you, make some dumb boy comment about being hot for the school freak, when your quiet, barely a breath response had him pausing. 

“No.”

Did you just say that out loud?!

Your head turned to find Steve blinking at you, creases in his forehead deepening beneath the stray locks of hair that fell forward. 

Looks like you did.

“Ste-”

“What? What do you mean no?”

Your eyes closed when you both spoke at the same time, avoiding his curious stare. Hands roamed to your cheeks to hide your face as your head fell towards your knees. 

As you shook your head no, your response gets muffled into your skirt. “I meant no.”

Steve’s hand nudged at your shoulder, prodding for clarity and for you to sit up. He failed to sound casual when his question came out incredulously.

“No, you’ve never kissed a guy?”

Your hands still covered your face as you fell back against the couch with a groan, “No, I..I have. I just…”

Steve pulled at your hands, his heart racing like it was overtime. All these years, he thought you’d been with all these other guys, his quiet jealousy seething under the surface of his tinged green from envy skin. 

A breath, well, more of a huff really, slipped past your lips as your gaze dropped to the hands holding yours in your lap. “I’ve never really made out with anyone? Just like…a quick kiss or two. I don’t even know, can you even count it as kissing? Over before it starts kind of thing…”

The ramble trailed off, the room silent save for the movie still playing and the giant, loud, big, fat, zero response from Steve. You counted the threads in the carpet, the pieces of popcorn in the bowl as your skin grew hotter and hotter from the reveal he’s left just hanging there until he  finally sputtered out a sorry excuse for one.

“Are you shitting me? We’re like…old.”

It doesn’t come out how he meant it to at all, he’s just shocked. He’s wincing almost immediately as the words reach his ears and brain, he knows how it sounded. He wishes he could take it back when your head whips up, hurt eyes meeting his as you ripped your hands away from him. 

“Yeah, Steve,” you scoffed, jaw pulsing as your voice dripped with sarcasm that tried to cover  the embarrassment, “I’m shitting you. Thought it’d be real funny to trick you into thinking your best friend is a loser who’s barely been kissed even though she’s so old.”

Pieces of popcorn fell from your lap as you stood, not letting yourself wonder where they came from as you stomped around the coffee table and towards his entryway. 

“No, honey, wait-” he stumbled after you, spilling Coke down the front of his shirt as he did, “Shit.”

He patted at his chest like it’d do anything, shirt damp and sticking to his skin as he rounded the corner and found you lacing up your converse and shaking your head. 

“It’s fine, Steve. I’m fine. I just don’t feel like talking about it. I’m gonna go home. Don’t worry about it. Girl stuff.”

“No, please, I didn’t mean-”

His words stopped just as abruptly as your body, when the front door swung open to reveal an out of nowhere downpour. 

Your head fell as you started to ask, and he was already one step ahead of you.

“Can you please-”

“I’ll grab my keys.”

He was tripping up his stairs by the time he finished saying it. When he returned, it was in a clean shirt, jumping from the second to last step as he swirled the keys around his pointer finger. 

The light blue fabric of his new shirt pulled at his shoulders that hunched when your glare remained unwavering despite the apologetic puppy dog eyes he had going for him. 

You understood Steve didn’t mean for the comment to start the hole he was digging, and you knew you weren’t being fair for being so upset. It’s not like it was his fault, it was just your own insecurities manifesting in an anger towards him. 

The nagging feeling of being some sort of freak who’d never made out while even the little twerps who clung to Steve were, while your best friend was Steve Harrington, former king of Hawkins High only grew stronger. The thought of Steve thinking you were some sort of weirdo for being old and never making out had something in your gut churning, had a familiar sting behind your eyes forming that you tried your best to ignore. 

When Steve opened his mouth, about to try to make it all better again, you simply turned on your heel and stalked out into the rain. He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes at the way you stomped through it, pretending to not be drowned. 

He quickly rushed behind you and got to the door first and swung it open, to which you rolled your eyes at, but slid in and got comfortable while he closed it for you nonetheless. 

Unsure why he went and changed as he raced around the hood and shot into the driver’s seat, totally soaked through to his skin now. He cranked the heat before swiping fingers over his eyes, a large hand ran through his hair and pushed it back only for it to fall into his eyes again. Steve reached over with wet and shaking fingers at the same time you held yours up, both of you pausing and glancing at the other’s hands. 

Steve was about to cup your fingers between his and blow warm breath onto them, just like he always did, but you ripped your hands down to your lap, and curled your body against the door, like you needed to be as far from him as you could be. 

Your damp forehead touched the cool glass of the window as he sighed, “Please don’t-”

“Just take me home, please?”

The tone in which the words were said has something in his chest breaking. Like you were really fucking sad, embarassed, it was a real plea to just take you home and leave you alone. 

So he wasn’t gonna do that, ‘cause he never was a great listener, so why start now?

He pretends though, he backs out of the driveway and heads in the direction of your apartment. He lets the radio fill the space and he turns the heat down when the air inside the car is heavier and warm despite your cold shoulder. The orange glow of the street lights slanted inside the car in a soothing rhythm as his wheels spun over the pavement until he was coming to the last four way stop before your apartment. 

It unfolds just as he had planned, when he’s still stopped at the deserted intersection, as your breath fogged up the glass when you asked, “Harrington, you planning on leaving the intersection anytime soon?”

His bottom lip wobbled as his teeth continued to press into it, thick fingers rubbing at a scruff dotted jaw as he thought out loud in an attempt to sway you. 

“Well, you see, I could go straight and take you home-” he started. 

“Right. Let’s do that.” You waved your hand towards the direction of the apartment that held the ice cream you were desperate to eat and wallow with while watching Pretty In Pink. 

“Or,” Steve interrupted right back, tapping on the steering wheel with his finger as he did, “I could go to the right. Pull into the diner. Buy you a milkshake and say sorry?”

The thing was, he was gonna go to the right regardless of your answer. He knew once you pulled into the parking lot there was no way you’d not at least go in and get fries and a shake, if not a whole burger. You’d done this dance before, him putting his foot in his mouth was not a new occurrence. 

Your lips twitched, but your arms stayed crossed as he hummed and whispered, “Tough choice…tough choice…”

Shoulders fell in defeat, but your mouth stayed downturned in a forced frown as you grumbled, “And fries.”

Steve smiled, turned on his blinker and nodded. He cleared his throat.

“And fries. Definitely.”

“And none of that you order yourself a vanilla shake and I order strawberry and you drink half of mine because it’s better and eat all the fries shit.”

“Of course,” Steve scoffed, “I would never do that.”

Steve slipped his straw into your shake, pulling the glass across the sticky tabletop as you did the same with his. He tried not to smirk around the straw when you did, dipping a fry in his vanilla he ordered for a reason despite the strawberry being better. 

“Do you think Claire is a prude for never doing anything?”

He shook his head no almost immediately, swiping at stray ice cream from the corner of his mouth with his tongue. 

You fiddled with the straw wrapped between your fingers and narrowed your eyes at him. 

“Would your answer be the same if, say, Eddie was sitting here asking you? Not me, your best friend, who you have sudden pity for?”

He blinked at you and sighed, “I don’t have pity for you.”

“Your mouth and your eyes are telling two different stories Harrington,” you waved a fry at him as you spoke, gesturing to his face with it. 

Your gaze stayed on the fry you were ripping in half, focused on watching it sink into the sweet vanilla as he dared to say, “I just don’t get it.”

“What, that I haven’t done that and I’m so old,” you tried to tease, to move past it. 

But the way you were licking salt off your finger had him wondering if he swiped his own through the salt on the tray and pushed the pad against your lips if they would part like they were now, if he could taste it on your lips if he just leaned forward and-

“No, ‘cause you’re so fucking pretty.” 

He definitely said it out loud that time. 

You blinked at him, cheeks suddenly too warm for the cold and damp Spring that had been surrounding you all day.  

“Ste-”

“And so smart,” he licked his lips, leaning forward, unable to stop now that it was out, “And funny. And…and sweet, you’ve got the biggest heart of anyone I know, I just don’t understand how guys aren’t falling over themselves, unable to do anything but make out with you, or more or-”

“I never said I didn’t do more,” you whispered, ignoring all of his compliments that made your chest feel all tight and sticky and choosing to argue with him instead because that was easier. 

“But you said…if you haven’t made out with anyone…” 

Your body slipped lower against the squeaky seat, embarrassed as you shrugged and Steve felt too hot in the tiny little booth, thinking about all those guys’ hands on you again, and then what you said, what it meant, really clicked. 

“Hold on…how…how’d…you didn’t, build up to it?” He asked softly, eyes bouncing over your face with worry. 

“Steve,” you grabbed for the other shake, and sat up straighter, “We don’t need to talk about this. It’s not import-”

“It’s so important,” he grabbed your hand and squeezed your fingers lightly, “Half the fun is all the build up to it. And,” he swallowed, forehead creasing with deeper worry, “And then it, it doesn’t hurt. ‘Cause tell me if I’m wrong, but if they weren’t making out with you, were they doing anything to make sure you felt good?”

You squirmed in your seat, fingers pushing up against his mindlessly, aimlessly, as you shrugged again. “It’s only hurt a few times. I learned that if I…um, If I got myself ready beforehand, that I was, uh, more comfortable.”

Steve’s fingers let go of yours with the excuse of grabbing a fry, because he was trying not to be a gross guy, but all he could think about was you in your bedroom, with your fingers between your thighs now. Did you play music? What song? Did you have underwear on? What color? With a shirt that your nipples were visibly hard through as you touched yourself and maybe it was his shirt or maybe you said his name or-

“Right,” Steve nodded, “Um, right. And that’s great, lots of people do that for a date, so like if you need or want to beforehand that’s not…that’s great. It just shouldn’t be the only thing, you know? They should be putting in the work, they should be wanting to. And dates! They should watch a movie with you, and dinner and drive around and then kiss so much you feel dizzy and then if you want, more.”

He finished his rambling speech and you smiled softly, unsure of what to say, because you knew he wasn’t wrong, it’s just that they had. 

“They did,” you sighed, “Well, not Paul.”

Steve scowled at the table, “Yeah, well, I’m sure you weren’t missing much. Who wants to yell out Paul?”

“Oh,” you laughed, “And Steve is so much better?”

He looked up at you, your smile sweet and kind and your eyes a little sad, but trying not to be and he wanted to say yes. He wanted to tell you that if it was those lips and that voice saying it, it was better, because how could it not be? Like his name only had the best letters, like it belonged to the best guy in the world, one that belonged to you and no one else. 

But you were swiping at ice cream on your lips and sighing, saying something that made his chest ache instead. 

“They were nice dates. And it’s not like the sex was bad. But,” you looked out the window, eyes tracking the droplets of rain twinged neon from the light hanging above you both, “The kissing till I’m dizzy sounds nice. Is it…is it fun?”

“Yeah,” Steve whispered, admiring the way the red and blue lit up your profile before you turned to face him. 

And then he was saying something before he really thought it through, because god you weren’t just fucking pretty, you were the most beautiful person he’d ever met and no way in hell was he letting anyone treat you the way you’d been ever again. So this was his chance, and he was taking the leap.

“I could…” he blew out a breath and smiled. He sat up straighter, and he searched for some sort of lingering king steve confidence he could latch onto without all the douche as he asked, “I could show you?”

To both of your surprise, you’d said yes, and he paid and you were in the car, driving, and parked somewhere in what felt like seconds. Now your best friend sat across from you, both of you facing the center console, but not daring to do more. 

The rain beat against the roof of the maroon car, each drop a punctuated tick of a nonexistent clock - a meter for how much time was passing without movement, without words. Just both of your breathing filled the space. First exhaling, then desperately inhaling for more air as your chests rose and fell ragged. And then, like in some unspoken agreement only best friends can have, you both started to lean forward cause you just knew. 

Your heart’s thrum threatened to drown out the rain, building and building, screaming to break out of your chest, pounding in your ears while your cheeks grew warm and your stomach dipped as Steve’s tongue slipped out quickly and wetted his lips. 

But then he leaned and his eyes started to close and you giggled, fingers slipping over your lips as his eyelids shot open. 

“Sorry,” you gasped and shook your head and your hands out as you tried to be serious, “Your ‘I’m about to kiss you’ face is real cute, Harrington.”

Tried being the definitive word. 

“Cute?” He groaned, smiling, “Not sexy?”

You leaned in, faster this time, a smile matching his as you shrugged, “It’s nice. Never thought I’d be on the opposite side of it, is all.”

It’s easy to tilt your head and welcome the hand that reached up to cradle your jaw as he softly promised, “Your ‘I’m about to be kissed face’ is really cute too.”

The pad of his thumb brushed over the apple of your cheek in the tenderest touch you’d ever felt, before his fingers curled under your jaw and tilted you gently, slowly, up so his lips were right over yours. 

It felt like he was handling you like the most precious and fragile thing, like a prized possession that he’d only ever hold with care and never let another soul touch. 

His breath fanned over yours, warm and sweet smelling, vanilla and cherry just out of reach for you to taste as you dared to quip back again. “Alright, I’m gonna have to cross reference these lines with other girls you’ve promised to make dizzy, Harrington, cause if that’s the first time you’ve used that, I’m afraid it’s far too smooth…”

Steve’s heart felt like it was trying to claw out of his chest as you laughed, smiling at him when he responded, “And, I think that’s enough out of you.”

Which you couldn’t help but reply back to with, “Yeah? Have some fancy trick to get me to stop talking?”

He laughed, low, muffled and deep in his chest. “A few.”

A sharp inhale slipped past your lips when his nose bumps yours, not realizing how close he’d gotten while you joked back and forth nervously. There wasn’t a protocol on how to let your best show you a proper make out, on how to just dive in and start, you just knew you wanted to. 

Steve’s swallow bobbed his adams apple as the leather beneath you creaked from shifting weight, needing to get closer. And as you did, his eyes found yours, mossy and dark in the low light, the browns and golds washed away in the rain. Their gaze flitted down to your lips, back up to fluttering eyelashes, and then his own eyelids were closing. 

All it took was another breath in, an exhale out, and his lips were on yours. A simple, slow press, holding your top lip between the both of his. Strawberry and vanilla teasing you, and soon he was moving, now bottom lip between his and you got it. Your mouths parted together, lips slotting in a rhythm that came naturally, that clicked. 

Something in your stomach fizzled and crackled like the sparklers you lit every year in his driveway on the fourth as the sigh from his nose hit your cheek. Body warm and sticky in a way that was usually reserved for Summer when his fingers skated over your jaw, up and around your ear, until they were cradling the back of your neck and pulling you closer. His mouth moved with yours in a way that could only be described as frantically graceful - needing more, hurried, hungry, but with the promise and precision of someone who knew what he was doing. It had your stomach dipping, like a freefall, like the greatest and scariest thing you’d ever felt. 

If he’d have opened his eyes, he’d have found you with your hands suspended between your bodies though. Fingers not quite brave enough to reach up and get lost in his hair, but not content to just sit in your lap and do nothing either. 

And if you'd opened your eyes, you’d have found his other hand gripping the center console like he was hanging on for dear life. ‘Cause holy shit was he trying to go slow, but kissing you was like chasing the last few minutes of sunlight in July - sweet and fleeting and magic - something you needed to make last, to soak up every last drop of until you couldn’t any more, not by choice, but because the sun has to set and he has to breathe.

In a shared gasp for air, you parted, but his lips were back on yours immediately, making your stomach swoop even more, like an entire family of butterflies had decided - hey, we live here now and we’re gonna make a ruckus so get used to it.

You didn’t mind. 

Steve’s fingers found yours and without breaking his rhythm, he tugged, guiding them to his shoulders that were practically on your side of the console now, which wasn’t doing something great to his already somersaulting stomach. 

He slowed down as your fingers brushed over and back on the collar of his shirt and his hands cradled both of your cheeks, pulling you off of his lips regretfully. You were both breathing like you’d run a marathon, his forehead pressed to yours as he gasped out, “Dizzy yet?”

“No,” you lied. 

He grinned, tip of his nose tracing the bridge of yours as he admitted, “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to kiss you like that.”

You couldn’t even respond, couldn’t tell him you wanted that too, couldn’t tell him that it was something you only dared let a daydream or two convince you it could happen before you were shutting it down, cause he was still talking. 

“And now that I have,” he swallowed, his thumbs glided down opposite sides of your neck as he shook his head, “I’m never stopping.”

Then he was kissing you again, and if you thought he was frantic before…

You had this feeling that even if those other guys had made out with you, kissing them wasn’t and never would be the same as kissing Steve Harrington. 

Soon one of your feet was on the seat, the other bracing yourself in the footwell. He had a hand on your hip and the other on the back of your neck and yours were finally starting to dare to journey past their spot on his shoulders and then your skirt was caught on the gearshift and he was stopping you again. 

“Honey, what are you doing?”

“So was that ‘never stopping’ just a nice sentiment or are you planning to back it up with action?” You huffed, distracted by pink lips that twisted into a crooked smile as he looked at your pretzeled body. 

Your shoulders fell as you nodded your head towards his side of the car and admitted, “I just want to be closer.”

“Oh, right.” Steve swallowed, and you wondered if it’d be weird if you kissed every freckle and mole you could find on his throat. Something told you he wouldn’t mind when he asked, a little more eager than you’d heard tonight, “Backseat?” 

And you clambered out of the car, the slowing rain soothing to heated and flushed skin under the mussed clothes, and then you were both meeting in the backseat, but the nerves returned. The way you both glanced at the space between you and were immediately and acutely aware of the lack of anything between you except doubt and fear. Was this a mistake? What about your friendship?

Steve looked at the space, at you, and then held up his finger in the symbol for one sec as he said, “Hold on,” and half climbed back into the front seat. His torso draped over the console as he loudly opened the glovebox and rummaged around inside, before he was fiddling with the radio, and falling back into the seat. 

His cheeks pink, but his smile wide as he looked at you again. “Hey! I’m so glad we could do this tonight. You look beautiful. Ready to watch your favorite movie?”

“Wh-what?” You laughed, totally and utterly confused. 

He tugged on your fingers, and pulled you to the middle, until you were slouched next to each other, shoulders touching as he shushed and said, “The Breakfast Club is starting.”

And the music playing over the radio,Simple Minds, a cassette he must have put in, had your chest swelling with something that was sure to burst and explode and kill you, because the boy was actually pretending you were on a couch, on a date, in a living room, watching a movie - it was perfectly Steve and you, and the best first date you’d ever been on. 

His left hand picked up yours, resting it on your thigh and played with your fingers. The pads of his traced up and down and over your hand as he stared at the windshield, his temple resting against yours. The music played, and his fingertips swooped between the curves of each finger aimlessly, the sides of his fingers running down yours and back up making it really hard to concentrate on the non-existent flick. 

When you finally relaxed into his side, when you flipped your hand over so he could draw little loop de loops on your palm, he quietly asked, “Who’s your favorite?”

“Brian,” said without hesitation. 

Steve groaned, in pain, “Ugh, you would like him the best.”

You laughed, turning to look up at him a bit from where your head had fallen to his shoulder, “Don’t knock him Steve,” you spoke softly, fondly, “You’re a lot more of a dork like him than you think.”

Steve made a pft noise, fingers now interlaced with yours as he turned his head, the tip of his nose touching yours as he looked down at you with the sort of look the guys give the girls in the movies, one that should be illegal from the way it had that family of butterflies shouting about their presence again and fluttering around. 

“Hey Steve?” 

“Hmm?” He hummed, eyelashes fluttering as he sighed when your thumb brushed over his knuckles.

“This is a really great…first date?” You asked, hopeful that it wasn’t just an offer, that you weren’t some game, that the guy next to you was just as crazy about you as you were him. 

“Yeah?” He smiled, proud, and then bragged, “Wait till the second one.”

It was your turn to hum, to look into his eyes and get a little lost as his mouth parted and you both scooted closer, waiting, as he squeezed your fingers wrapped around his. 

“You’re making the ‘I’m about to kiss you face’ again, Steve,” you whispered, lips brushing his as you did.

“Right,” he whispered back, bottom lip catching yours as he suggested, “Which means you should probably stop talking again.”

This kiss wasn’t as easy and smooth, made difficult by grins of fools who were totally in love but wouldn’t admit it just yet, but how could you both not be after years together?

But you smoothed it out quickly, and soon he was swiping his tongue over your bottom lip as his hand gripped at your waist a little tightly. He traced over your top lip as your entire body turned towards his, like a plant in search of sunlight, his body on yours fundamental to your survival.

He gasped as you straddled him, your mouth swallowing the sound as his hands roamed up your sides, taking the hem of your shirt with it so his fingers could scrape at the skin just under your ribs before they dared to drift along the band of your bra.  

You let out a sound that he’d never forget as long as he lived when you finally lowered yourself, skirt fanning over your laps so the sinful way he pressed up against your pristine soaked Calvin’s was slightly hidden. The unclip of your bra and the removal and toss over the seat was fluid, and you couldn’t think about it because the way his hand on your chest felt, the thumb over a pebbled nipple was something you’d only let yourself think about in moments of need before a date that wasn’t him. 

Steve was wrong, the build up was more than half the fun.

The way his hands buzzed against your spine like the air after fireworks, the way his tongue brushed yours, the way he couldn’t help but guide your hips to rock against him. Denim hitting cotton in the exact right spot so the nerves underneath it got the friction they were aching for, while your mind ran away from you, thoughts about how this was just getting started. How there was more. 

His lips left yours and his smile pressed to your jaw when the action got a soft whimper to fall from you. He tutted into your neck, lips grazing over an erratic pulse as he whispered, “Can I touch you?”

“Is that,” your breath hitched around the words as his tongue licked a thick stripe over your neck that extended, “Is that a part of making me dizzy or the more, when I’m sufficiently so?”

“You’re not yet?” His teeth scraped at where his tongue had just been. “I like when you say words like sufficiently, ‘s’hot.”

You laughed as his lips kissed the same spot, and then he was sucking, skin beneath his tongue warm and sending a message to your brain that you liked that a lot. 

“Yeah,” you hiccuped, eyelids fluttering in their view of the car’s roof as you arched and his hands gripped your hips, “Yeah, touch me.”

He didn’t have to be told twice, arm around your waist holding you steady while the other traveled under the hem of your skirt. His mouth moved to below your ear and as his fingers glided up your thigh. He sucked and kissed, and sent that message to your brain again, having you say his name and god’s in the same desperate sentence. 

Steve wasn’t gonna last much longer. 

Especially when his fingers met the wet cotton and you moaned, so much filthier than he’d have thought possible. Especially when he circled over your clit through the fabric and you rolled your hips with the movement, far dirtier than he thought you were capable of. 

“Fuck baby, you’re soaked.” He mouthed at the collar of your rucked up shirt, looking down at the way your hips rolled over his but he couldn’t quite see what was underneath. 

You hid in the crook of his neck, hot, and you didn’t know if it was because the windows were fogged and Steve was so fucking good at this or because you were embarassed by how turned on you were from his next words. 

“Please, I gotta,” he slipped a finger under the fabric and you shuddered as it ran down your slick and back up, “I gotta taste you. I need to put my mouth on you. Let me make you feel good, yeah?”

You were on your back, Calvin’s in a ball on the front seat, with Steve crouched between your thighs not even a minute later. 

Thick fingers toyed with the hem of your skirt from his spot, blown out pupils taking over his stare up at you. One of your converse pushed to the other side of the car against the door as your fingers curled around the base of the sweating window above you. 

Steve kissed your knee, and made his way higher between your legs slowly, until he was flipping your skirt up and swallowing as he stared at the space like it was a fucking artwork. 

You giggled, nervously under the intense awestruck stare, squeezing your eyes shut as he strained to get out, “Fuck, honey, you’re trying to kill me.”

He was mesmerized, the way you clenched around nothing, his thumbs spreading you so he could see just how wet you were for him. 

He was really not gonna last much longer. Straining in his jeans painfully like a teenager. 

And that was before you whimpered, before you said:

“Steve, please.”

“Only,” he swallowed, leaning down so his breath hit your cunt in a way that had your hips wiggling, and him closing his eyes, “Only cause you asked so nicely.”

His thumbs held you open, massaging the sides as his tongue licked once, slow and broad, following the path of his nose up to your clit. He did it again, and again, and again. Until his fingers were slipping inside of you, pumping in and out of walls that held him tightly and his mouth sucked at your clit. Then you tugged, forcefully at the curls at the back of his head and practically screamed his name. Like it was full of only the best letters. Like it was yours. 

Your stomach burned, the butterflies angry and in your chest now too, on fire, but happy about it. Steve’s fingers inside of you and mouth on your clit better than any orgasm you’d ever had, and you couldn’t help it when you came without warning, toes curling inside of your converse that kicked at the door and his thigh, while your fingers slipped on the window and your chest ached for a breath as it yelled his name in a way that the whole world would have to know how you felt when they heard it. 

He didn’t pull away until you were gasping and your thighs were shaking and your fingers loosened in his hair. His cheek pressed to your thigh as he stared up at you and gasped out a proud, smug, “I’d like to see Bender of Brian do that.”

You laughed, tired, but happy, and he crawled up your body, kissing any part of it he could find while he ignored the uncomfortable wet patch in the front of his Levi’s. 

Except you noticed and raised your eyebrows at it, a little smug yourself as you said, “Bet Claire couldn’t do that.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but then you were both flinching as a loud smack of something hit the back window. He glanced up and cursed under his breath, rolling down the window slightly as he called out from on top of you, “Hey, Hop.”

There was a loud, deep, sigh from outside as you both sat up with apologetic faces and Steve rolled down the window further. 

Hopper’s cigarette smoke wafted in as he looked at the pair of you with a touch of surprise when he saw it was you next to Steve in the fogged up beemer. He shook his head, frown under the mustache forced.  “It’s past eleven. On a weeknight. Have some decency and do this at home in front of a movie like normal people next time, yeah?”

You both nodded, your teeth pulling at your lip in a terrible attempt at not smiling. 

He walked away, and you and Steve slapped hands over each other’s laughs and snorts, but you still managed to catch the quiet, “Bout damn time.” 

And when Steve dropped you off at home, with a kiss to seal it all and a promise of a real date tomorrow that he’d pick you up for, you shoved the bunched up Calvin’s in his front pocket with your own promise, whispering in his ear the words “Sincerely, yours” before you left him with his mouth open on the front steps, watching you walk away. 

*if you liked this fic, the minor follow up is: Risky Business

[wroteclassicaly]

Summary: A confession leads to unexpected heartbreak.

18+

Warnings: Language, smut, hurt/no comfort, one sided feelings, heartbreak, angst GALORE, self-esteem issues, mentions Steve’s past head trauma, insecurities on both sides, jealous Steve, mentions Nancy, best-friend!Reader w/ best-friend!Steve, and friends to lovers. This one hurts, folks!

Pairings: Steve Harrington x Female Reader

Word count: 3,985

A/N: No banner for this! Just some raw writing I did early into the hours of this morning/night, adding on some today. I wanted to try something different, so enjoy!

Note: Also posting this the day after I wrote it. Okay, lmaooooo.

“I love you, Steve.”

The words come easy to you, the courage taking years to build. But once they leave your mouth as you’re cradling his neck’s nape, playing with the chocolate curls that have grown out there, you cannot figure out why you wasted time not saying it. It’s been an ongoing thing between you two — a two year thing, in fact. Never any pushing for labels, no exclusivity. You were patient, he was giving, and you assumed you were both reading on the same page.

In a few minutes, however, you’d find out how very wrong that you were. You wished that your mouth and your legs had stayed closed around your best-friend, Steve Harrington.

It was a typical weekday, no dates planned, acting as if his last date hadn’t upset you, or that you enjoyed the one you forced yourself to go on with some guy, so that your feelings weren’t completely obvious. Sidenote: to mostly everyone but Steve, they kinda were. Steve had called you after your shift at the local Burger King, asking if you wanted to come over and spend the night. Not unusual. You always trade spending nights, rolling around on various surfaces, before enjoying breakfast together.

Intimate, casual, perfect.

Your answer was an automatic yes. A quick shower after work for you, a return phone call, and he’d gotten in his BMW, picked up some takeout, went to your door to get you, held your hand to the car, opened your damned door, and the dessert had been him between your thighs. This night in particular, it was one of pent up frustrations and desperations that had just one satiable cure. You ended up on top of Steve, his back pressed into the headboard, mutual clothes scattered all over his bed.

His shoulders became leverage, his massive palms spread out on either side of your waist, pinching the plush skin into his palming grip. Nose dusting across a defined nose bridge, caught in a cheekbone, with kisses rushed, deep, sloppily trying to stay focussed, but driven to reach that place buried inside one another.

Steve’s thighs provide a platform for you to sit upon, ankles locked around his back. He’s slippery with sweat, places you’d like to lick clean. You pull back from your cove to say it again, unable to stop yourself, going in for a kiss. You don’t think he heard, he’s humble sometimes, disbelieving in others. One hand cups his jaw, the other staying put to card through his hair, moisture pooling between your fingers.

“Hey? You still with me, big guy? I said I love you.” You’re smiling softly, thumbpad caressing his jawline. You feel it twitch, his shoulders tense.

Is he gonna cum? You know the signs. “Steve?” Something in your guts feels a little off. You ignore it.

“I know what you said. I heard you say it the first time.” He interrupts, tries to remain impassive, his hips slowing from your combined movements.

Like salt in the wound, a fresh slap to the face. No way.

“You heard me say that I love you?” You have to try one more time. He’s been hit in the head a lot, maybe he didn’t get it? He couldn’t have, right? Are you really this stupid, this dense?

You attempt to kiss him, to lay it all down through your actions, rather than your words this time, but your mouth doesn’t get the chance to meet him.

His lids flutter closed, he sighs, his face leaving yours, hands lifting off your body to wrap around your wrists, slowly untangling them from his neck. “Stop, alright?”

You feel your heart rate accelerate, your body tensing, your throat is choked with a teary panic, a bulldozer driving across your organs, settling atop you with its weight. Every single wall you still have built, they slowly shake off their cobwebs to rise from the dust, smothering you in the smoke. And he’s suddenly a very tight fit, to the point where you’re wincing, body immediately wanting, trying to push him out. He notices, one hand dropping to the side of your face. “Hey, hey. Hon —“ He stops himself, lets your nickname drop, falling back into your regular name.

He isn’t sure who that action hurts the most.

One look at your vacant expression and Steve feels as if he’s been sucker punched, that he’s the meanest version of himself he’s ever been.

He’s still inside of you, you let him into your body, you told him a sacred set of words. And this is what he’s doing to you? Hurting you to the point where your body starts to get frightened? But he couldn’t just come while you poured your heart out, he couldn’t continue like his world was normal anymore. He reaches down to wrap around his base, face wrinkling, teeth gritting. You’re so fucking tight that it hurts, his cock aches for you when he eases his way outward, dragging combined essences with him. “Let me just…” He starts, deep voice a rocky, rasp, finishing when his length is gone from your body, dripping with you onto his sheets, covering him.

Once he’s out, you’re already passed the point of overwhelming vulnerability. Your legs clamp closed, your hands cover your chest, unwillingly to wrap yourself in his damn sheet that smells like home to you. Steve is unsteady on his feet, halfway hard, but slowly softening at your nearly curled position. You aren’t looking at him, you won’t, you cannot. It’s not safe right now, because if you do, it’ll all come apart and it won’t stop. Steve is on overload in his own head, eyes sparkling, tears matted into his lash-line.

He has to breathe through his nose when he says it. It’s wrong, it’s so fucking wrong. But he’s helpless, he can’t take this environment, he wants to run from you, from your words.

“I’ll, uh. I’ll, uhm… I can take you home if you get dressed.”

He’s blinking away blurry vision as he catches your wounded, tear fogged expression the moment that he’s snatching his boxers and jeans off the bed, and making for the bedroom door. He shuts it and leaves you to re-cloth yourself in silence. It’s honestly deafening, you’re not sure how you manage. Revealing your body to his room, to his scent, pictures on his wall, various trinkets, but not him. You’re shaking as you put on piece by piece of fabric, dreading having to see him.

Your hand hovers over the door, giving several pauses before you open it. You step out onto the deep carpet, plush across your feet, mashed against your toes. He’s nowhere in sight. And you remember that he took his clothing, so he’s probably getting re-dressed.

Fuck this. It’s in your brain on broadway lights, body in flight mode. You’re heading down the staircase and snatching your shoes up by the entryway, forgetting your purse in his room. You don’t care anymore, you have to get out of here, this place closing in on you like a funhouse. You shut the door as quietly as you can, then you’re sprinting down the Harrington’s driveway.

Is it dramatic? Yeah. Oh-fucking-well, you’re running on adrenaline so your body doesn’t feel the disgusting agony that’s slowly eating its way through your insides. You get about halfway and you hear footsteps approaching at high rates, your name being chanted. Steve is at your side in seconds, breathless.

“Shit, you scared me. Why the hell did you leave like that?”

Your eyes widen to give him an incredulous look, and that’s when the tears escape, rolling down your cheeks. Steve sees your disheveled state next. No purse, no shoes. Your blouse is halfway hanging off your shoulder. It’s an automatic instinct, his fingers brushing underneath the fabric, dragging across your skin as he pulls up to secure it.

You want to flinch away, but you don’t. Hurt settles in his brows. He’s fucking incredible with that question. “You aren’t wearing your shoes. You can’t leave my house like this.”

Autopilot flies in to protect you, leveling off everything else that you could say or do. There’s no anger, there’s no sorrow, there’s nothing. And that’s what scares him the most when you say, “I just wanna go home.”

He can’t stand it anymore, his natural urge to protect your safety, has him wrapping you in his arms. You still smell like his bed, like him, like love making left unfinished. Your arms remain clutched to your chest. No reaction.

He says it out loud, unknowing if he means it to you or just to himself. “We should’ve never started having sex.”

A mistake. You’re his mistake. Not his biggest. Not even a real regret.

Steve Harrington has only ever loved one girl. He’s only ever regretted one loss. He even cared more for Robin before he even went to you. Are you even pretty enough, or does he just like you because you’re friends and he’s horny, or searching for something? You’re not it, not even a morsel.

And it doesn’t matter what you say, what you do, how you feel. You’ll be stuck with that, while Steve clings to whatever he truly wants. Now you’ve lost what you’ve built with him, destroyed his safe place by becoming a cliche. He doesn’t deserve your one sided feelings.

The wheels are spinning in your head, but Steve still sees nothing in your responses, nor your reception. So he lifts his keys from his pocket to respect your wishes, his chest on fire with an acidic inferno, his head clouded with pain far worse than anything he’s ever experienced, his skull echoing with what his brain has just endured. You walk to his car without sparing a glance, feet still bare. He swallows and it just feels like piles of broken glass. He can do nothing but do what you asked of him.

He drives you to your house in silence. Steve Harrington has been sure of one thing in two years, and that’s always been you. But as he pulls up to your house, you’re climbing from his car before he can put it in park, your voice hauntingly, desperately hollow. “I’m sorry I ruined everything.”

And you leave him, the levee going to break once you’re through your front door, pain in between your legs to remind you the next morning before your mind does. His nose crinkles, his fingers pinching, a thin line of snot trailing out. Steve wants to say to you that it’s him who has ruined it all. That he’s so scared of those words, that he doesn’t understand how someone could love him, so he can’t let your words sink in, can’t consciously reciprocate. A coward who won’t let himself feel your declaration.

Steve Harrington’s brain, however, knows the truth.

~*~

Waking up the next morning had been a reality that neither you, nor Steve were prepared to handle. You pretty much cried yourself to sleep, whilst Steve held onto your purse and paced his floor until his feet verged on rug burn, tears blurring his vision. When he finally did lay down, his alarm went off two hours later. He woke to your scent all over his bed, still covering him, lingering even as he showered, especially in his car on the way to the store. The same car that things have happened in, and the very one that he dumped you off like trash last night, after what you’d gone through to tell him the extent of your feelings. He wasn’t functioning on a full level from the second he pulled into the parking lot.

~*~

You could still feel him, your body sore, brain picking up seconds after you opened your eyes, toes hitting the blush rug underneath your bed. Your sclera was bloodshot, burning, clouding over as you passed by pictures of you with Steve, and quite a few you’d taken of him solo, that you had on the corkboard above your desk. You’d deal with taking everything down later, unsure what you would be doing with the items. Forgoing breakfast was a given, your stomach in knots. Showering went painfully fast, leading you right into putting on your work uniform.

You barely made it three hours into your shift, headache, heartache going head to head, and your boss had noticed your discomfort, gently releasing you for the day. Only one person made everything better, but that was no longer an option. Your confession sets you free, backfiring what type of freedom you wanted to occur. It was eleven o’clock when you dock yourself into Family Video’s parking lot, relieved Steve was on his normal lunch hour. Even if you can spend time with Robin, it will help.

You can hurry, you don’t have to see his face.

Fate has other plans.

You’re helping Robin unpack some candy shipments when his car pulls in about half an hour early. She could tell you weren’t feeling your best, so that’s why she’d assumed you didn’t want a male presence around. You’re honestly shocked she hasn’t clocked Steve as the mystery man she’s known about the past two years.

“Don’t worry,” she says, upon seeing your soured, slightly fearful expression. “It’s just our doofus. He’s been in a brooding mood today, probably why he’s back early.”

A mood? So you have ruined it all.

You nod, forcing yourself to stay put, immediately gaining on deep breathing. At least you don’t shake when you begin to alphabetize the candy. You can hear her greet Steve before he even gets a word in. She snatches some kind of paper bag, that you assume he brought back for her — away, rifling through its contents as she speaks.

“Dingus, you still have that bottle of Tylenol in your car?”

Steve’s heart is in his throat, wrapping him tighter than Vecna’s hive minds did. He gives a silent yes, head trying to lean around a few shelves. Fuck. Of course that was your car out front, he wasn’t just imagining shit. He’s hopeful, anxious. What are you here for? Who?

“Good. Can you go get it, please? She doesn’t feel good and she’s been helping me all morning.”

Immediate worry doesn’t cover it. You’re here and not at work, and you’re sick? Steve snaps out of what trance he’s in, eyes pinching closed and he nods rapidly. “Shit, yeah. I’ll go get it. Here, Robs. Can you take my water to her?” He hands off his half drank bottle without question, moving back outside to get the medicine.

It’s funny, the look on your face as Robin presents you with his drink. You all share off of one another all the time. She places the food bag beside her, to which you politely decline her offer for some. Doesn’t matter if you haven’t eaten, you can’t.

“I know he has cooties, but I think we’re safe.” She shoulder bumps you, trying to get a smile. When you barely lift your mouth, she goes into her version of mom mode. It dawns on her and it comes from her mouth without tact.

“Wait, is this about that mystery guy who took your virginity? The one you’ve been seeing for two years? Holy shit, did he finally commit?”

If Robin couldn’t tell how you felt about Steve, or see anything from his part, then you guess it’s true.

There’s nothing to see.

You can feel your rib cage gape open, heart falling into your ass, strangled by your intestines.

Luckily, Steve has perfect timing, appearing right in earshot as Robin reveals information you never told him. The room feels small, you feel as if you could melt into the floor, non-existent. Would it matter? You are starting to think love controls everything, after all. You’re fucking doomed.

He lets his Nikes carry him forward, bottle of Tylenol in his massive hand. He’s starting to tremble, betrayal etched into his mouth, giving away what Robin now feels stupid for not knowing. It all clicks when your moods are matched, your mixed reactions combining.

“Oh. Oh, holy fuck. I’m…” She looks at her best-friend, who is halfway seething to near sobbing, and at you, who cannot look her in the eyes. “Shit, I should’ve known. Why didn’t I know? Fuck. I’ll give you two a minute —“

“Steve?” Your voice is tinged with something, one that has him slightly elated that you’re vocal, and even more pissed at you. He waits, his tongue caught in his throat, about to ask you, but you’re adding on. “May I have two Tylenols please?” Standing on your feet right after.

He’s like a fucking statue, on autopilot, unmoving this time. Robin rises, plucks the bottle gently, shaking out two and drops them into your hand, handing the container back to Steve, ultimately giving his water to you. She mouths an apology, but you’re smiling a tacky, forced grin that looks as if it’s pinching your lips. She’s bound to be upset you both neglected to tell her. Keeping your mouth shut should’ve been the reverse way.

“I’ll call you tonight, Robs. I’m sorry, okay?”

“Hey.” She stops you before you can step back to leave, wrapping her arms around you, maroon coated lips by your ear. “I don’t have a foot fetish, but I really should’ve kept the entirety of my own in there to avoid this.”

That gets you laughing softly, and you don’t look at Steve as you depart from her arms and for your car. He’s still frozen.

Robin does, though, stares right through him. She can see how much he’s hurting. She doesn’t want to judge either side, so she simply reaches up to rub along between his shoulder blades. “If you need to —“

“I’ll be right back.” His eyes are trained on your retreating form, handing her the pills as he follows you.

“That works too!” She points a finger in his direction, sighing. Is everyone else onto this, or is she just off her game?

~*~

You’ve just barely downed the pills, tasting Steve’s cinnamon breath spray, combined with his morning coffee all around the lid of his water. You chug it fast, your back still turned to the front door. That’s when the dumbass little bell rings, slapping back against the door, and his voice comes into play.

“You can taste my mouth on that, right?”

You remain non-verbal. This angers him to the point he steps close enough that you can smell his cologne and aftershave. His tone shatters, emotion bleeding through. “Because friends share things with one another.”

“Well, friends sure as hell don’t fuck!” It snaps free of your mouth, shocking the both of you, plastic crinkling in your hands. Your head is hurting, between your thighs is aching, and you’re positive that a piece of your chest has been carved out.

He’ll always have that, whether he wants it or not.

“They don’t lie about being a virgin, either! They don’t say that it’s been a while when they’re in pain and I’m fucking asking what’s wrong the first time that we have sex! If I would have known, then it would’ve been—”

“Wouldn’t have happened, so I didn’t build some little attachment to you, right?”

Steve visibly recoils.

“Is that really what you thought of me? That I was still that big of an asshole? Because we were already pretty attached. I did everything with you, you practically lived at my house.”

“If you didn’t have a date. Maybe it was just sex, me and you. Still doesn’t answer if you found me attractive. Probably just biased because you were my friend.” Word vomit. Too late to stop now.

Steve mulls over the meaning of were. Past tense? Does it apply to current?

His hands go onto his hips, a sidestep, and he turns back to look at you in astonishment, having to swipe aggressively at the wetness in his eyes. He doesn’t even know where to begin with everything you just said. His brain is screaming to tell you that no, he’s always found you fucking beautiful. That he would have preferred you over all of those dates, or any that he’s ever had for that matter. But he’s so confused about letting anything in, his tongue becomes tied, only able to get out one lame question. “Why didn’t you ever tell me any of this?”

When your gaze flickers up, you see he’s snarling, but there’s tears clouding his vision. You’re a little lighter in how you speak to him, dismantling your armor. “Because I didn’t want you to think I was a loser, I didn’t want our first time to be about that, I didn’t think you would want to… I didn’t mean to — I’m sorry, Steve.”

He marvels. You really thought that? Did he not express his care for you?

“I would’ve made it better for you. Fuck, were you even okay after it happened?”

His moral compass is extraordinary nowadays, and it does make you hesitant, but you let your fingers cup his cheek. “It was the best. You were the best. I wanted it to happen with you. And it’s something that I would never take back.”

Your teeth start to chatter, your own tears forming. You want to console further, to wipe away his. But you start to let your hand slip. Steve catches it, holding your fingers in his palm, wrapping his digits around to lace. His deep voice drags along each syllable, crooked and wet with emotion. “Please let me hold you before you leave?”

And god, do you want to. You’ve never needed anything more. But if you let him… You just refuse to put yourself into that place right now. You shake your head, replacing your hand with his water bottle. His tongue pokes at his cheek, he shakes his head, attempting to argue. He closes his fist around the plastic.

“I meant what I said last night. And I realize that I ruined everything, Steve.” He can’t speak, why isn’t he able to disagree, why is it like he’s drowning, running in slow motion?

“I just don’t know if it can be repaired.” By the time you slide into your car, hand over your face, arm propped to your steering wheel, body heavy into your seat, Steve finds himself worked up to the point that he can’t bear to be around you, he can’t watch this, his figure pivoting, and he returns straight into the store, booking it to the break room.

~*~

After you’ve cried for what feels like forever, embarrassing yourself, light headed with guilt, you don’t end up driving yourself home, unable to do it in this state. You make your way to a pay phone to call Nancy. How fucking ironic. What’s worse, is that she can’t make it, you find out, as Jonathan Byers pulls up in her station wagon, letting you know that she’s sorry, but she got a call back to her job. You assure him it’s fine, grateful another friend is here, at least, joining him.

He doesn’t press you. But he knows. He’s one of them that pegged it from the start, he and Nance both.

“You okay?” Is his gruff question.

“Yeah, I just have to go home.”

He says nothing else. But what neither of you see, is Steve Harrington, as he’s just getting to the doorway, regretting his decision to not go back once he realized you didn’t leave, unable to stand you being that upset and not trying to do something (if he could) — watching the affection Jonathan Byers extends your way, and your rejection of any reluctance to accept it. His amber eyes are smoldering, his fist clenched, every muscle rigid, heart rate firing off rapid shots.

“Steve…” Robin tries, folding in beside him, seeing his dismissal of logic, his brain switching, latching onto primal panic. “You’re at work, remember? Video tapes, acne covered boss?”

But he’s throwing off his vest in response and striding towards his car, ignoring her pleas.

[ladykailitha]

Sweet Home Indiana Part 2

Hello! My elbow was doing better this morning and then I took a nap and hurt it again somehow...(head desk) so I'm still putting out my backlog without being able to build up more because of it, hopefully it gets better before I run out of backlog because that would be embarrassing.

Here we get some backstory as Eddie strolls back into Steve's life.

Pt 1

****

When Robin came into open the store she found Steve wearing the clothes he had been wearing the night before. None of the bread dough was rising, none of the cookies were baking having not even been made, the cakes were out on the cooling racks instead in the freezer to chill enough to have frosting put on them.

He was curled up next to their large stand mixer dubbed the Beast, cradling his sides like he was trying to hold in his innards.

“Steve...” she called out gently.

Steve looked up at her and her heart broke. His eyes were red and puffy, his cheeks tear-stained and blotchy. Snot ran down his nose and pooled on his upper lip.

She sighed and then turned around. She hunted around for a marker and a piece of paper. She wrote that they were closed for the day and hung it up outside the front door. She locked it behind her and went to go sit down next her best friend.

Steve laid his head on her shoulder and sighed.

“Eddie’s getting married.”

Robin had to force herself from jerking her head around to look at him because he needed her support more than he needed her ire in that moment.

“Who do I have to kill?” she muttered darkly, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair soothingly.

Steve barked out a bitter laugh. “She’s this hot shot legal assistant from Barbados. Like I didn’t even know that was a country until I looked it up. It’s in the Caribbean. Did you know that?”

“I did.”

Robin blinked for a minute. “Wait...she?”

Steve just shrugged. “People change, Robs. Don’t make it a thing.”

She bit her lip and worried it between her teeth. Because fucking hell she wanted to make a big deal out of it. Someone should make a big deal out of it.

“Nancy’s back in town visiting her family,” she said instead. “Holly’s graduating next week.”

Steve threw his arms in the air. “Great! I’m being invaded by my ex. Just put me out of my misery now, Robs. I don’t think I can take it.”

Robin smacked his arms. “No. There will be no killing of the Steve. If anyone wants to make it your problem, then they’re going to have a problem with me, got it?”

“Thanks, Robbie,” he murmured, running his fingers through his hair. “Like the way he went about it was such complete shit. Like how dare he think that a simple annulment is going to get him off abandoning me for fame and fortune and then not coming back when it fell through?”

Robin’s head did whip around that time. “He fucking did what?”

Steve sighed and waved at the papers in the trash. She got up and picked them up. She read through them with increasing ire. Her hands started to shake and her face burned with indignation.

“Screw killing her,” she hissed. “I’m going to kill him. Just as soon as I find his scrawny ass. How dare he?”

He huffed out a bitter laugh. “I hunted down his number and called him out on it. I told him if he was so desperate to be free of me he had to tell me to my face.”

“So what you’re telling me...” Robin said slowly, “is that your not just being invaded by one ex, but most likely two exes. And like your two biggest heartbreaks ever?”

Steve got to his feet and lopped over to her. “That about sums it up, yeah. I know you closed the store, but I still have to make Mrs. Laurence’s cake. She’s supposed to pick it up at 3pm.”

She patted him on the shoulder and tossed away the papers. “Let’s make this cake. We can’t disappoint Mrs. Laurence.”

Steve and Robin went through and tossed everything that couldn’t be salvaged. Steve pulled the two chocolate sheet cakes out of the freezer and set them on the decorating table. He went into the walk-in freezer and got out the two large tubs of frosting; one chocolate buttercream and the other vanilla buttercream.

Robin pulled out the food dyes and began mixing the colors they would need for the cake. Steve went and grabbed one final thing from the fridge before closing the door. A raspberry filling.

He got to work starting with a crumb coating and then took the purple colored frosting from Robin and began covering the whole cake. Once it was completely covered he started adding design elements and darker purple flowers.

Then he passed it over to Robin who wrote “Happy 50th Anniversary” on the top.

All in all it had taken about an hour. Then he called up Mrs. Laurence and told her that Robin would be delivering the cake today because the shop was closed. He didn’t explain why and she didn’t ask. Mostly she was just grateful that it was going to be delivered.

Then Steve got to work preparing for tomorrow. Things like cookies and pastries that could stay in the fridge over night were made first. Then he started on the thing he was most famous for: his brownies.

He had four kinds, a triple chocolate that was dark chocolate brownie with milk chocolate frosting and chunks. The second one was a peanut butter marble with fudge drizzled over it and topped with chopped peanuts. The third was a cheesecake and caramel that was super popular with the high school kids. But the most famous, the one every raved about was the mint brownie. It had mint in the brownie itself, mint frosting, and fudge and crumbled brownie bits covering the top.

The Monster as it was fondly called by Steve’s customers could turn even the most fervent of mint haters over to the dark side, it was that good.

Finally everything was ready for tomorrow.

When Robin came back from delivering the cake, she sat down at the decorating table and leaned on her elbows, clasping her hands together.

“When are you going to get some people into help you?” she asked gently. “You know I won’t be here forever and you can’t keep doing it on your own.”

Steve who had just finished cleaning everything up looked up at her with his big puppy dog eyes. “You’re going to leave me?” he asked with a pout.

She slapped at his arm. “You know that I’m heading to college in the fall, just as soon as I pick which one I’m going to. You’ll have all summer to train a couple of people to take my place.”

He sighed. “I know. I’ll think about it after I deal with my exes this week.”

Robin rolled her eyes. “Fine. But I also get to interview these new peeps and make sure they’re good enough.”

“Deal!” he said and they shook hands.

****

Because they were closed the day before Steve had a line of customers lining up on the sidewalk when he turned the closed sign to read “OPEN”.

Robin and he got to work helping all the customers.

It was fine up until Mrs. O’Donnell came in absolutely bitching about how she always gets her bread on Wednesdays and he knows that he should have been open for her. Especially since Mrs. Laurence got her cake, so Steve should have been able to open for her to get her bread.

She had completely bottlenecked the whole line. Robin was working as hard as she could to keep up with demand on her side of the counter, but Steve could see she was starting to falter.

“Enough!” Steve barked and the whole shop went silent. “I had a personal matter come up that couldn’t have been avoided and Mrs. Laurence had paid for her cake well in advance which is why she still got it. And unless you don’t want to get your precious bread ever again, because I have banned you, then you better stop harassing me, get your damn bread, and get the fuck out of my store.”

Mrs. O’Donnell let out a small “eep!” before paying for her bread and leaving quickly. There was a small amount of clapping and Steve grinned.

“Next, please,” he said and the next customer came up.

Things went smoother after that.

Two hours later, the rush had ended and Robin and Steve worked on restocking the shelves.

“You always were a bitch, Steve,” a voice said from the corner on the shop were there were a couple of tables people could use to eat their tasty delights. “But watching you take down that bitch O’Donnell was like poetry in motion.”

Steve stiffened, hands clenching on the tray of brownies he was carrying. He slowly turned around and sure enough in all his black clothes, leather jacket, and many chained glory was Eddie Munson.

He gritted his teeth and slid the tray home in the display case. He pulled the towel off his shoulder and wiped off his hands. “Nice to see you finally got tired of running.”

Eddie got to his feet and moved to step toward the counter when a little bell went off announcing a customer.

In walked this soft round woman with a bright smile. She didn’t even notice Eddie standing there, she just walked right up to Steve.

“Mrs. Laurence!” Steve greeted warmly. “How was the cake yesterday?”

Mrs. Laurence smiled. “It was lovely as always, dear. Nothing but rave reviews from all.”

He smiled at her fondly. “I’m glad. So what can I get you today?”

She tapped her finger on her lips as scanned over the case. “I’ll take a half dozen raspberry truffles and a monster please.”

Steve’s smile turned into a grin. “You’re just in time, I just finished a fresh batch of monsters just before you came in.”

“Lucky me indeed,” she said with a giggle. “They are so much better fresh. Not like your peanut butter ones. They taste better after a day or two to really set the peanut butter.”

Steve laughed as he packed her order. “I always feel like the opposite, give the brownie bites on top time to get chewy and they’re...” he did the chef’s kiss. “But I like how gooey the fresh peanut butter ones are fresh out of the oven.”

Mrs. Laurence laughed too. “Agree to disagree, dear.” She paid and turned around.

“Oh my goodness!” she huffed. “I didn’t even see you there, you must think me rude just jumping the line like that.”

Eddie shook his head. “I don’t think you’ve got a rude bone in your body. Jeffy takes after you that way.”

She tilted her head. “Eddie?”

Eddie nodded mutely, lips pressed into a grim line. She swept him up in a hug.

“My Jeff didn’t say anything about you coming to town,” she admonished her youngest child.

Eddie just shook his head. “It was a last minute decision. Just something I have to take care of.”

She looked back at Steve who had his head tucked to his chin and then back to him. She nodded sagely. “I see. Do take care of yourself, Eddie.”

She wave back at Steve. “Bye, dear. Thank you so much again for the cake yesterday.”

“Of course, Mrs. Laurence, you have a good day,” Steve said softly.

Eddie finally made it to the counter.

“I forget she’s Jeff’s mom,” Steve muttered as he wiped down an already clean counter.

Eddie cleared his throat. “Yeah. Like I forgot he was in town for his parent’s wedding anniversary. I guess time does that to you.”

Steve nodded. “So you’re actually here.”

“So I’m actually here,” he agreed. “But first I want to know what the fuck a monster is?”

Steve’s eyes misted as he pulled out a brownie from the case and set it on a piece of parchment paper.

“It’s called that because it’s big, green, and ugly, but soft and sweet,” he explained like he was reading from a script, refusing to look up at Eddie, “just like the Frankenstein monster from that super old horror movie.”

Eddie looked down at the so-called monstrosity with a wave of affection for the man in front of him. That wasn’t why it was named the monster. The reason it was called that was because that’s what the towns people were calling him before he left for fortune and fame, because he played D&D, like metal music, and was an out and proud gay man. That and the fact that they thought he had killed a bunch of kids with a batch of bad blow.

Which had been bullshit. Considering he had never sold meth or cocaine and didn’t have any on him. So when they tested his hair, his clothes, his uncle’s trailer and couldn’t even find so much a speck of the stuff, let alone the stuff that killed the kids, they let him go.

As far as Eddie was aware they still don’t know who sold them the drugs.

So yeah, Steve made him the brownie when he was at his lowest to tell him how soft and sweet he was despite being called a monster.

Eddie opened his wallet and got out the cash for the brownie and handed it to Steve.

Steve went through the motions of getting him his change. Which Eddie immediately put in their little tip jar.

Steve boxed up the brownie and handed Eddie the box.

Eddie pulled out an envelope out of his messenger bag and handed it to Steve.

Steve sighed and pulled them out. He began to look over them over and had a pen in hand, when he looked up to see Eddie moaning around the brownie.

He clicked the pen and shoved it back in his apron. “I better have my lawyer look over this, after all I’m just dumb, right Eddie?”

Eddie’s eyes widen and he choked down the bite of the brownie. Flashing back to their last major fight.

“God!” he screamed. “How can you be this stupid? Those kids are in high school now, they have their own parents, for fuck’s sake. Where is your ambition? This is just bullshit. You aren’t chained here for fuck’s sake.”

Steve’s face shuttered and the mask he only pulled out when his parents were around dropped over his features. Bland, clueless, and absolutely frightening in its uncanny valley.

That’s when Eddie knew he’d fucked up bad. He had said the three things he swore in his wedding vows he’d never say to Steve. That he had no ambition, that he was stupid, and that he was bullshit.

He turned on his heel and never looked back.

Steve smirked as if he knew what was flashing through his mind and walked away, leaving Eddie standing there with hand near his mouth, the expression of shock still on his frozen features.

****

Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

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[loveinhawkins]

After the almost end of the world, Steve tells Eddie that he can have a shower first.

It feels surreal that they’ve both made it here—that Eddie is standing in his hallway, leaving mud stains on the floor from his boots: remnants of The Upside Down mixed with normal dirt.

Steve almost wants to ask if he can walk around some more, create countless marks as proof of his existence; hell, even take his hand and run it down the beige walls.

Leave a trail, Steve thinks, through a fog of complete and utter exhaustion. So I know it’s real. So I can find my way back to you.

What he says instead is, “Try not to get your dressings wet.”

Eddie pauses on the stairs. Smiles. “Okay, nurse,” he says, and it’s a gentle tease if anything, his voice softened by tiredness.

He’s holding himself a little stiffly while turned to speak, his upper body almost at an angle.

Steve thinks about the jagged line down his side (“If the bats died, like, ten seconds later, you’d have—you asshole,” Dustin had rambled through tears, thumping Eddie on the arm); how Eddie had narrowly avoided a hospital stay. Thinks of the way Eddie tried to reassure Dustin, fiddling with the guitar pick hanging around his neck in a show of nonchalance—but Steve still saw how his hand shook.

“Guess I’m just a lucky son of a bitch, huh, Henderson?”

It shouldn’t have been luck; it should have been a guarantee. Steve should have ensured it.

Eddie makes his way upstairs with slow, heavy footsteps. Steve waits until he can hear the water running, then heads to the phone.

He’s used to this routine by now. Robin and Nancy first, as he knows they’ll pick up rather than their parents.

“Oh, thank god,” Robin had said when she answered the phone after Starcourt. “I thought it was a horrible dream.”

“Thank god?” Steve echoed, laughing.

“Yeah,” Robin said, quite seriously. “It was either I dreamed up everything alone, or we saw it all together.”

And Steve, touched beyond words, had called her a dingus instead.

Tonight, their phone call is much quieter.

“I’m home,” Robin says. “I love you.”

Steve’s hand clenches around the phone. “Love you too,” he whispers, and he ignores the warning sting in his eyes, because he doesn’t have time to—he still has so much left to…

“I’m home,” Nancy says. She adds, “Get some sleep, Steve,” in the fatigued tones of someone who will not be taking their own advice.

Eddie comes downstairs sometime during Steve’s phone call with Mr and Mrs Sinclair. He’s quiet; the only sign that alerts Steve to his presence is the faint smell of mint body wash.

When Steve hangs up, he has to take a breath, still clinging to the phone pointlessly.

“What are you doing?” Eddie asks quietly.

Steve breathes out. “Checking in,” he says.

He dials another number.

It began after Starcourt, the Sinclairs having bought the excuse that Steve had been trapped with Erica in a broken down elevator as the ‘fire’ began—technically true, Steve had thought, just in the wrong order.

Their conversation had been all anxious tones, all, You were there, Steve, what exactly…? Should we be worried that…?

And he gets good at it, at bridging the gap between worlds: keeping the full truth from parents, but giving them just enough information, little things that go beyond the surface level cover story, that somehow help put their mind at ease—cultivating the sense that Steve is the witness, the one being honest with them.

Christ, he’s tired.

The call with Max’s mom is hard. She’s still at the hospital, and technically there’s nothing to really worry about (Max’s arm had a clean break), but that doesn’t change how it all felt, how she shook with pained sobs as Steve tucked her into his side.

“She’s sleeping now. She said you were with her,” Susan tells him, voice low. “Steve, I’m—I’m so grateful.”

But I wasn’t, Steve thinks. Not when it mattered.

He doesn’t realise that he’s still holding the phone after the call has ended until Eddie takes it from him and puts it back in the cradle.

“Hey, can I, uh, use the phone? Wanna call my uncle,” Eddie says.

Steve doesn’t mention the fact that Eddie has already spoken with his uncle, that Steve had overheard him fighting tears in the hospital as he called the plant where his uncle was still working: because even the earthquake-like rumble felt all over town as Henry Creel died wasn’t enough of an excuse to warrant clocking out early.

“Pretend I’m s-someone else calling,” Eddie had whispered, his voice breaking. “Wayne, I-I’m okay. Got stitches, but I’m okay. Fuck. I love you.”

And Steve tried not to think about how it could’ve so easily been him making the call, telling Wayne Munson that his nephew will never come home again.

Eddie pauses, hand hovering over the phone. Then he twirls his index finger in a little circle: turn around.

Steve does. Can’t find the energy to smile.

“Shower,” Eddie says, then taps him very gently on the back, once, twice, like he’s saying off you go.

Steve manages to twist his body so his own fresh bandages don’t get wet, carefully tilting the shower head away from them. He methodically washes away the dirt; the heat of the water is welcome, but it also seems to weigh down his limbs with every drop.

When he goes back downstairs, Eddie is on the phone. He keeps repeating vague little mm-hmm sounds, and Steve somehow is sure that he isn’t on the phone to his uncle.

“Yeah,” Eddie says as Steve approaches. “Yeah, he’s here.”

There’s a little side table next to the phone; Eddie reaches for the notepad, scribbles, then turns it round so Steve can see.

Dustin’s mom

And Steve…

He knows he should talk to her. He knows Claudia will no doubt have questions, even if Dustin’s probably already given his own half-baked explanation about how he hurt his leg—“It’s just a sprain,” he’d insisted, even as Steve hoisted him up, took all of his weight.

The right thing to do, surely, is take the phone from Eddie.

But Steve suddenly can’t bring himself to even lift his hand for it. He feels drained, feels vulnerable and exposed after the shower—that along with the grime being lifted from his skin, it’s also left his stupidly fragile, exhausted heart on show.

Eddie’s eyes flicker over his face like he can see it, see everything, and without so much as an awkward pause, he murmurs into the receiver, “He’s tired. Yeah, he’s—he’s okay. Mm-hmm. Yeah. Yeah, I will.”

He hesitates for a moment, a fleeting sheen to his eyes, and then he says, “Thank you. Goodnight, Mrs Henderson.” Another little pause. He smiles, adds, “Goodnight, Claudia,” and hangs up the phone.

“Is she… okay?” Steve asks. “What did she—is Dustin—”

“All good,” Eddie says. “She was just… checking in.”

The checking you were okay goes unsaid, but Steve can still hear it.

It weighs him down like the shower had done. He doesn’t register that he crosses through to the living room, just knows that he’s suddenly sinking down onto the arm of the couch, that Eddie is sitting next to him.

Steve doesn’t consciously decide to speak, the words tumbling out of him like it’s inevitable.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he mumbles.

He can practically hear Eddie frantically trying to make sense of what he’s said.

“Well, yeah, no plan’s gonna go perfectly, man, that’d be—but, hey, we fuckin’ made it, we—”

But Steve is shaking his head. “No, I… I thought I’d figured it out, I—”

He doesn’t know how to explain it; it’s too much to…

It’s something too big to put into words.

The fact that, as Nancy relayed each phase of the plan, he had listened closely, only agreed because at least he was in the group that would be closest to the ‘blast zone.’

That he’d hated leaving Lucas, Max and Erica alone, but had tried to reassure himself that at least they weren’t in The Upside Down.

That once Dustin knew where Steve was going, he wouldn’t take no for an answer, that he’d follow him to The Upside Down no matter what.

And, honestly, Steve would’ve preferred Eddie not getting dragged into this bullshit for any longer than he needed to be—that if it was feasible, Steve would’ve just told him to take the RV and run.

But Steve had seen how he was with Dustin, roughhousing in the grass. Knew that where Dustin went, Eddie would follow, too—a shield in his hand.

And Steve also knew something along those lines was true for him and Robin: that if he thought he could get away with it, he would’ve told her to watch over the kids at the Creel House, but knew she’d choose to be with him.

That all he could feel about going into Henry Creel’s lair himself was relief—not because he thought he was an essential part in all of this, but because he just…

He needed to be there. Just in case.

Because there was a look in Nancy’s eyes that terrified him. It said that if she had to, she’d die with Henry Creel, so long as it would all be over, so long as Barb would be avenged.

Out loud, all he can say is, “It… it was too close.”

“Steve,” Eddie says. “No-one got—”

“You’re not listening,” Steve says, and there’s a scream in his throat begging to be released; he doesn’t let it go. “It was too—I almost—almost had to—”

“Steve.”

“S-someone’s gotta call home,” Steve goes on. “And I—fuck, I was so scared I’d h-have to—to tell them that—”

“Steve,” Eddie whispers.

“But I-I would’ve,” Steve says. His voice cracks. “I couldn’t have just—they would’ve got a-answers, I would’ve—”

“I know,” Eddie says softly, and he’s got a hand in Steve’s hair suddenly, guiding him to his shoulder. “I know you’d—hey, I’ve got you. I know.”

The first sob, when it starts, hurts—feels like it comes straight from his stomach. Eddie holds him through it, almost like he’s afraid Steve might drift away to some unreachable place.

“I’ve got you,” he keeps saying. “Oh, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

When it’s over, when Steve gives a final, shuddering breath against Eddie’s shoulder, Eddie murmurs into his hair, “S’too late for any more phone calls, Steve. C’mon. Show me where to sleep?”

It’s not even all that big of a thing, when Steve leads Eddie to his bedroom, lies down on the farthest side of the bed. Leaves deliberate space.

“You don’t have to—there’s a guest room,” Steve says, tongue thick with exhaustion. “Don’t wanna—kinda worried I’ll hit your dressings in my sleep.”

Eddie looks at him from the doorway. “You’ve been patched up too, Steve,” he points out.

Steve shrugs.

Eddie steps into the room. “It’ll be fine,” he says, smiling. “We’ll both be gentle, huh?”

Steve nods through a yawn. When Eddie makes to shut the door, he says, “Don’t, leave it open. Just—just in case the phone… I’ll sleep right through it otherwise.”

Eddie’s still touching the door handle. “D’you trust me?”

Steve’s eyes keep closing against his will. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I trust you.”

Eddie shuts the door so quietly that it barely makes a sound. “Okay. ‘Cause I have, like, freakishly good hearing.” Through his lashes, Steve sees Eddie smirk wryly. “Like a bat.”

Steve thinks he makes a noise of acknowledgement—isn’t quite sure as his eyes have closed.

He feels Eddie lie down next to him, feels the covers being drawn up.

“I’ll hear the phone,” Eddie says. “I’ll answer it, ‘kay? I’ll come wake you up, if I need to.”

A gentle hand on Steve’s forearm.

“Promise,” Eddie says.

Steve breathes in. Out.

“Okay,” he replies, and he falls asleep completely: not needing to stay half-awake, not needing to pick up the phone—not needing to do anything at all.

[aphrogeneias]

𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 — 𝐩𝐥𝐮𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞

summary: it's time to face the music.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

warnings: angst with a happy ending.

author's note: this was posted originally only a few hours before season four, volume two came out, and we had no clue what eddie's fate would be. nonetheless, here he survives. he saves and is saved, and that's all that matters <3. thank you for reading!

series masterlist

The door was already opened when Steve pulled into your driveway.

If he was honest to himself, Eddie wanted to run away. He was tripping on himself from the moment he stepped out of the car, unsteady legs leading him to the porch, where Max Mayfield sat alone, with her own headphones around her head.

She stood up as she saw them run into the house, and held Eddie's arm as he passed her. He stared at the redhead girl, wide-eyed, as she started talking quietly. "Her tapes are upstairs in her room, we didn't know what to pick so we waited for you. She's, um… Just hurry, okay? There's still time."

Frightened by the hesitation in her voice, all he could do was nod, frantically, as he made his way into the house. Running into the living room, what he saw almost made him break down, knocking the breath out of his chest.

Everyone else was already there, standing around you and Nancy, who were sitting on the floor, your back resting on the couch behind you, while the oldest Wheeler held onto your hand. Your eyes were taken by a pale, milky white color, blinking rapidly, as you stared ahead, vacantly.

Even if he tried, Eddie couldn't put it in words how much it hurt him to see you this way. Broken, spellbound, vulnerable — nothing like the girl he used to know. Without thinking, he surged forward, aching to comfort you, but he was abruptly stopped by Steve, who put himself in front of him, holding him still by the shoulders.

"What are you doing, man?"

"Didn't you hear what Mayfield said? Go get the tape with her favorite song in it. Now!" Steve pushed him back, determination set heavily in his brow.

Stumbling, he walked backwards, still dizzy from shock, struggling between doing what he must and staying by your side, but he knew he was the only one who could help you now, and he would be damned if he failed you now.

His legs carried him up the stairs and into the hallway as if they had a life of their own, running on autopilot. He'd never been to your house, and it felt deeply wrong that these were the circumstances that had him visiting you for the first time. Foolishly, he had imagined coming here in much different situations — late at night, perhaps after a much belated date, holding your body close as you guided him to your room, expectation heavy in the air.

None of that mattered now.

Your bedroom was just like he expected it would be. A large bookshelf covered almost all of the wall opposite to your bed, which was unmade, an old teddy bear forgotten on the floor. He didn't have the time to look carefully at all the art taped to the walls, the pattern of your wallpaper, or the clothes that you'd left on your chair before was kneeling after the bottom shelves, where you kept your tapes, neatly organized.

"Where's the goddamn…", trembling hands checked one by one, throwing them haphazardly on your carpeted floor, "fucking…", until he found it, a white and yellow tape, with the words Please, Please Me written in bold red letters. "Beatles!"

Falling back, he pushed himself up, running back downstairs. Nancy was already holding your walkman when he came in, an eery silence taking over the whole house. Delicately, he took it from her hands, placing in the tape himself, and selecting the thirteenth track, your favorite, "There's a Place".

Sitting in front of you, he placed the headphones on your ears, making sure they were secure and in place. Eddie cradled your face in his hands, leaning it to speak to you, as if you could hear him, as if you were the only two people in the room. "C'mon, baby. I'm here, I'm right here for you, you can do this."

Only a moment after, your body shot up into the air, making him gasp. It was like a sinister deja vu, something he'd seen before and never wished to see again, images of Chrissy now running through his mind like a old movie. He wanted to scream, but he didn't have the strenght to make a sound, eyes glued to your floating body, almost touching the ceiling.

He could hear the others talking around him, but he couldn't make sense of what they were saying. He could feel them pacing, throwing words of encouragement at you, jittery with worry. But Eddie couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't see a thing other than you.

"C'mon, please, I know you can do this."

When a gasp came out of your mouth, body trashing still in the air, time stopped around him.

He watched as you came down, falling on the floor, curling up on yourself. Eddie crawled his way to you, throwing his arms around you as soon as he was close enough to do it, bringing you near. Your breathing was heavy as you clutched to him, "What was that?"

"Long story, sweetheart. How are you feeling?"

"I thought he was going to… I though I was… dead. He was going to win."

Shaking his head, he brought his hands to sides of your face again, resting his forehead on yours. He could see your eyes from up close, the beautiful color of your irises shining again, your breath minglinf with his. "No, we weren't going to let him. He's not gonna win, he's not gonna take you from me."

You closed your eyes, brushing your nose with his, and whispering, "I was so scared. At first I saw…", swallowing hard, your hand squeezed his wrist, but he still held you close, "my father. I didn't understand what he was doing here, but then… it was him. That thing."

Eddie knew there was something you weren't telling him, something more to your vision that you were willing to share, but he didn't care. You were safe, he was able to save you, even though none of that felt real.

"That thing isn't going to get to you anymore. I promise, okay?"

Drawing away to look at him in the eye, and reaching one of your hands to touch his cheek, you gave him a sad smile, "Don't make any promises you can't keep."

"I'm keeping this one, I told you I'd stay, didn't I?"

"For as long as I wanted." You repeated his words. "What if I want to you to stay forever?"

"That's fine by me."

At the end of the day, perhaps, you were the one who saved him.

[babyrunsforfanfic]

It’ll Pass | s.h.

summary: based off of the fleabag scene, that i’m sure you know. “i love you” / “it’ll pass”. between steve harrington and you.

steve harrington x fem!reader

warnings/tags: ANGST, not really a HEA but it’s at least a resolved one? kinda sorta anyway, the reader x steve were fwbs after nancy and steve broke up, this is set after the events of s4 except eddie did not die idgaf this is my house my rules, also it’s a “right person / wrong time” situation, i am honestly not that happy with this so idk abt it

wc: 1155ish

•••

you liked fucking steve harrington.

you didn’t however, like the after.

rifling through his clothes for your own, sliding damp underwear back up your thighs and hips as steve sighed in his bed next to you. you didn’t like how his fingertips would almost gently caress the finger-shapes bruises his hands would leave on your waist and hips.

when you’d started the friends with benefits thing with steve, that’d been all it was. and at least, on your side of things, that’s what it was still. while you found steve rather endearing, you would be leaving for college soon. the upside down seemed to finally be taken care of, and almost everyone was able to survive the craziness.

eddie munson had hightailed it out of the small town, beelining straight for the coast of california. you had plans to follow, soon actually, and then the two of you planned on posting up in a shitty apartment together.

not that anyone actually knew of your plans.

you pulled your hair back, ignoring steve as the boy tapped his fingers carefully against your thigh. you stood, rifling through steve’s things for your bra, before you cast an expectant look to him from over your shoulder. you scanned your eyes over him, barely lingering on the scar he still had around his neck from the demobat attack.

you had your own scars, fuck, you all did.

“what’s up?” you kept your voice soft, and you couldn’t help but swallow at the dryness in your throat.

“you could stay… if you wanted?” steve offered, and you sent him a small smile as you slowly shook your head. you found your bra, and slid the straps on- quickly buckling the strap behind your back. “why not?”

“i’ve never stayed the night before, stevie.” you hum, you shrug your shirt on, smoothing the tee down your front. steve lets out a sigh and you bent down to grab your shorts, sliding them on as quickly as you could. “why are you sighing?”

“i hate that you won’t stay.” steve huffed, and you can’t help but let out your own sigh to match his.

“stevie…” you stand awkwardly at the foot of his bed, and can’t help the look you send his way. his hair is ruffled, no longer the careful style it had been when you had arrived at his house several hours before. “what do you want me to say?”

“tell me why you won’t stay,” steve asked, holding his comforter against his lap as he leaned down to grab his boxers. you diverted your eyes as he pulled them up, and kept your eyes downcast when steve stood in front of you. his large hands cradled your face, thumbs sweeping against your cheekbones. “please, sweetheart.”

“i’m leaving for california in two weeks.” you admit, and you pull yourself back from steve as his jaw went slack. “i put my two week notice in at enzo’s already, and i bought a bus ticket-”

“so i have two weeks,” steve said softly, stepping closer into your space as your brows furrowed in a silent question. steve’s hands curled around your face again, fingers still soft on your skin as he smiled. “i have two weeks to convince you to stay here with me.”

you let out a watery laugh as steve leaned forward to press a soft kiss to your brow. as his lips pressed the kiss to you, his hands slowly slid under your shirt, and began to pull it over your head.

“stevie…” you murmured in slight protest, but you made no move to stop him as he threw your shirt across the room. steve’s hands drop to the button on your shorts, popping it open as well as working the zipper down, before he rucks the shorts down your thighs.

“stay tonight, sweetheart.”

and you do just that.

•••

the time spent with steve goes by much quicker than you really thought it would.

you go on dates and eat terrible diner food. you spend quiet moments together, tucked bare next to each other in steve’s room. he takes you to and picks you up from work when his own schedule allows the time, and on your last day he helped you clear your locker out.

you’re packed, all of your belongings you care about tucked carefully into a suitcase and your backpack from high school. steve sat quietly next to you on the bench for the bus, his bottom lip between his teeth as he worried away at it.

“this is it, isn’t it?” steve’s voice is soft, and you don’t look at him as you nod your head. “fuck.”

“i’m sorry,” you murmur, eyes downcast as you hear the loud engine of the greyhound pulling into the station. you watch as families and groups stand, some hugging family members as you and steve stay rooted to the bench seat you were on.

“fuck,” steve shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “fuck!”

you don’t say anything, fiddling with your hands for a moment, before you go to stand. steve’s hand curled around your wrist, stopping you from fully moving, and you turn your head to meet his eyes.

“you know what the worst thing is?” steve’s voice is soft as he questioned you, and you slowly shake your head as your wide eyes meet his. “that i, i fucking love you.” steve swallowed harshly, and you sniffled as you watched him, your brow furrowed. “i love you.” you wet your lips and go to speak, and steve shook his head quickly- quieting you down. “no, no don’t. let’s just leave that out there for a second on it’s own.”

you’re both quiet, and you stand slowly, shaking steve’s hand off of your wrist. he lets you, and his hands curl together in his lap as he watches you. you slide the straps of your backpack on, and right your suitcase as you move your eyes back to steve harrington.

“i love you.” steve murmured, voice soft, and you can’t help but offer him a faint smile.

“it’ll pass.” you promise, voice soft, and you try and ignore the tears gathered in steve’s eyes.

you hadn’t seen him cry before, even when the upside down happened, even when you were both in hospital beds recovering from what you both had experienced there. you sniffle, but turn your head, nodding when you meet the eyes of the driver of the greyhound bus.

you turn back to steve, and he’s watching you with wide eyes as you wrap your hand around the handle of your suitcase. you tuck some hair behind your ear, sniffling, before you offer steve your parting words.

“i love you too.”

steve doesn’t fight it when you board the bus. and you keep your eyes on him for as long as you can when the bus finally pulls away.

you ignore the way your heart aches.

[hbyrde36]

Times Like These (The Anniversary Edition)

CH 1 CH 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch5 Ch 6 Ch 7 Ch 8 Ch 9 Ch 10

Chapter 11: Broken

WC: 4999 | AO3 link

The house was a flurry of activity, with everyone rushing around to make their final preparations as the clock ticked down to dusk when they would set off for Benny’s to put their plan into motion one last time. 

At least Eddie hoped this would be the last time. 

He didn’t see Steve again until they arrived at the old abandoned burger place and started unloading the sound system, speakers, and wire from the back of his van, stacking it all near the gate that led to the Upside Down. 

Hopper and Nancy stood guard with weapons drawn as he and Steve traversed back and forth into the other dimension, making sure everything was set up and ready to go for Robin and Chrissy to provide the distraction that would draw the bats away from Vecna’s lair.

They stole sideways glances at each other as they worked, not speaking or even properly making eye contact until El pulled them both aside to talk.

“It does not change much from your side of things, but I wanted to explain. I will not be piggybacking into Eddie’s mind. I will wait until Henry is distracted and go into his mind directly.”

Eddie tilted his head, impressed. It was a good idea to change tactics. “Like sneaking in the back door while he’s looking out the front. Okay, yeah, I get it.”

“Yes!” She agreed brightly. “Since he has seen in your mind and has an idea of our plan he will be looking for me in your memories, while I will be sneaking in through his.”

“So what do you need me to do?”

“You still need to think of some happy memories to hide in. The longer you keep him busy, the more time I have to get close before he realizes. The important thing is, you must keep moving, do not let him get too close. I will not be looking for you, so you will be on your own. Jonathan will signal Joyce again with the flashlight when it is time for Steve to pull you out.”

She held Eddie’s gaze firmly until he nodded his understanding, then turned to Steve. “But—If he starts to float, do not wait. Pull him out right away.”

Steve dipped his chin. “I will.” 

“What if you need more time?” Eddie asked. 

“I won’t.” She insisted, her tone leaving no room for argument.

All too soon it was time to separate, the goodbyes and good lucks a bit more somber this time around without the rest of the kids there to witness it.

Hopper gave Eddie an unexpected pat on the back before walking off with Joyce to share a private moment by the cars. Jonathan shook his hand, while Nancy gave him a warm smile and a squeeze on the arm before the two of them wandered off as well, keeping an eye on El while she waited for her dad.  

Robin was the next to approach, pulling him into a surprisingly tight hug, and whispering a quiet “good luck” before giving up her place to Chrissy and making her way over to where Steve stood.

Chrissy took him into her arms, rocking them side to side as she buried her face in his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing her in as he held her back, this precious girl, the only constant he’d really allowed himself to have this go around. She whispered soft words of encouragement to him, making him promise to stay safe while he did the same to her.

When they finally broke apart he found himself staring over her shoulder at the place where he and Steve had shared their own emotional goodbye in the last loop, the moment everything had changed, when he’d been cradled so gently in the other boy’s arms. 

It was the same spot where Steve stood now, holding Robin this time, as they too made quiet promises to each other to be careful, where he gave her his baby, his precious nail bat to protect herself with, because weapons would be of no use to him where they were going, wouldn’t help if and when Eddie started to float. 

“Remember, no matter what happens, one way or another I’ll see you on the other side.” Chrissy said, drawing his attention back.

He tried to smile at her, to nod, but the pit in his stomach wouldn’t allow for much more than a twitch of his upper lip. He took her hand instead, squeezed it. 

“See you on the other side, Chris.”

He looked up again to find Steve’s eyes on him now too, and they walked together in silence to Steve’s car, Joyce already waiting for them in the passenger seat. 

Eddie did his best to clear his head on the way to the Creel house, staring out the window as he cataloged the happiest moments of his life, pretending not to notice the way Steve kept trying to catch his eye in the rear view mirror.

To be extra safe, they parked Steve’s BMW behind the dilapidated house where it couldn't be seen from the street. There was no reason to think Jason would be out looking for them this time, but they were taking no risks. 

Before they parted in the front yard, her for the jungle gym across the street, and them for the attic where they suspected Vecna would be lurking on the other side, Joyce faced them both and smiled.  

“You can do this honey, I know you can,” she said, cupping Eddie’s cheek with one hand before doing the same to Steve with her other. “Take care of each other up there. I’ll come check on you after the final signal.”

-

Eddie could feel Steve's gaze on him again, the weight of it heavy, as they held their lamps aloft and carefully climbed the stairs to the attic. They had to be as quiet as possible, so as not to draw Vecna’s attention before the others were ready.

They took up positions by a window, leaning against the wall on either side of it so they could see out to where Joyce was waiting to signal them, and after a moment of eerie silence, where they could hear nothing but the barest of sounds emanating from both of their headphones, Steve pulled a notebook and pen out of the inner pocket of his jacket, scribbling something on it quickly before holding it out to Eddie.

Scared?

Eddie made no move to take the pad out of his hand, only stared down at the single word inked there in stark black on the white page. He swallowed hard, shrugging as he looked away from Steve’s penetrating stare. 

Of course he was scared, he wanted to say. He was fucking terrified. 

That their plan wouldn’t work—that it would. 

That he’d die and it would all start over again—that he’d die and it wouldn’t, no more 1ups, game over.

Steve pulled the notebook back to himself, flipped to a fresh page and wrote again, shoving both the pad and pen forcibly into Eddie’s hands, as if to say he wouldn’t take silence for an answer this time. 

Why didn’t you want me here?

Though they were more than fair, the words stung to see. 

God—Eddie had really fucked up, hadn’t he? And it wasn’t like this was the first time it occurred to him that he’d handled things badly this time around, he was well aware, but it was hitting him hard now as Steve stared at him, looking so hurt and angry. 

But what could he do? They were out of time for confessions or explanations. 

Eddie wrote back, knowing his short apology was entirely inadequate, but it was all he could offer under the current circumstances. 

I'm sorry, It’s complicated. 

Steve read the note with a clenched jaw, shaking his head.

The signal came then, three flashes through the window from Joyce, and Eddie was officially out of time. He met Steve’s wounded gaze and wished he’d been brave enough to do it all differently. 

At that moment Eddie made up his mind, and maybe it was a little—or a lot—too late, but he decided this was it, it was going to work this time. He could do this, El could do this, they could all do this. And when it was over he would tell Steve everything—all of it. From what they’d been to each other once—what he’d hoped they’d been at least—to how he felt about him now. He would hold nothing back, and whatever would be, would be. At least then he could say he’d tried.

Steve started to tuck the notepad away but Eddie reached out to grip his wrist, stopping him, and gently pried it out of his hand, jotting his last words down as quickly as he could. 

He pressed the pad of paper back into Steve’s grip, holding it for a few beats longer than necessary, letting their touch linger as he looked deep into Steve’s eyes one last time, pleading with him to understand. 

I AM sorry. Talk later? Let me explain?

Steve pursed his lips, face softening slightly as he took the words in. 

Suddenly there was another flash on the window, Joyce signaling them again with her light. They needed to hurry. 

Eddie gave Steve a sad smile, wordlessly removing his headphones and handing them over along with the Walkman he unclipped from his belt. He turned, feeling safe with Steve at his back and looked up into the rafters—could almost picture Vecna hanging there by all his tentacle-like vines in the other dimension.  

“Okay asshole, I’m here—no music. You win. I give up.”

Eddie waited—thirty seconds, a minute—to see if anything would happen, but of course it wouldn’t be that easy. 

It was always going to be a long shot, making Vecna believe he was actually here surrendering. The enemy knew their plan, had seen it play out in different ways through Eddie’s own memories. If he was going to pull this off, he’d really have to sell it.

He took a deep breath and opened himself wide, letting the pain he’d been collecting like rain water fill his heart to spread throughout his chest, running through his veins like a raging river. All those things he’d tried to push down, and hold back, and sure, they’d spilled over once or twice over the course of days but now he let it flow freely. He thought about it all—the terror of seeing Chrissy succumb not once, not twice, but three times on his watch. He recalled his own deaths too, how he’d known on some level exactly what end he was sentencing himself to when he’d cut the rope, leaving Dustin safely behind as he went to lead the bats away. 

He remembered every moment of failure from the first loop to this one in vivid detail.

And Steve. 

He thought of Steve, and let Dustin’s voice fill his head again, weakly crying out, He’s gone.

Eddie sniffled, choking back tears as he took a few shaking steps forward, closer to where Vecna should be, and away from his heart, dragging his feet through the thick coating of dust on the old wood floor. 

“I thought about what you said, about this being my fate?” His voice, though hollow and ruined, was loud in the unnatural silence of the room. 

“You were right—” He shook his head, dropping his voice low, almost a whisper. “Of course you were right. I’m no hero. I can’t save anyone—I can’t even save myself.”

There was a shuffling behind him as Steve moved. Eddie didn't turn to see but he could feel the other boy getting closer and held out a hand to ward him off. The movement stopped immediately.

Eddie hung his head, listening, standing stock-still as seconds gave way to minutes, and still nothing. 

Panic began to set in. Their whole plan was hinging on this, it all fell apart if he didn’t get Vecna on the hook.

“Come on goddammit!” He shouted, kicking an old coffee can full of nails clear across the room with a loud clatter. “You offered to end my suffering and I want–I want out… whatever it takes. I just want it to be over!”

One deep breath.

Two. 

“What are you waiting for?! You want me to beg? I’m begging! Take me you motherfucker!”

Another sound, a creak and a footstep, the air behind him shifting. Eddie readied to wave Steve off again but the other boy started to speak before he could even lift his arm. 

“I knew it. I knew it shouldn’t be you.” Steve snarled. “You can’t even play bait right. Have you always been such a complete and utter failure, Eddie?”

Eddie knew better than to fall for it this time, and he knew Steve better than to think he’d ever say anything to him with that level of vitriol in his voice, no matter what he’d done.

The guy was good, though. Eddie had to give him that. Subtle, just like before he had no way of knowing exactly when it’d happened but he was in Vecna’s thrall now. 

It was time.

He backed away from the thing that had again stolen Steve's beautiful face and turned it into something twisted, slamming his eyes shut against the image, doing his best to conjure up the first good memory in his arsenal. 

He sat across from Wayne at the little two-seater table in the kitchen in the trailer—a room in a place that was so comfortable and familiar to him now, but on this day, his 12th birthday, still hadn’t quite felt like home yet. Wayne had to work that night, couldn't afford to take the time off, but did his best to make the day a special one for his nephew anyway. He’d woken up much earlier than usual and taken Eddie into town, so he could spend what few quarters he’d managed to scrounge up playing games at the arcade. Now they were back, about to dig into a small but decadent triple chocolate cake, Eddie’s favorite, after splitting a couple cans of SpaghettiOs for dinner—Eddie’s other favorite.

He didn’t expect to receive any gifts. 

It was already the best birthday he’d ever had, and his only wish when blowing out his single birthday candle had been that he get to stay with Wayne forever, and maybe return the favor someday—take care of Wayne when he was old and Eddie was grown. 

But though he hadn’t been expecting any presents, he’d be lying if he said that the guitar Wayne gave him that night wasn’t the best one he’d ever received. Before leaving for work that night Wayne showed him three chords—G, C, and D, and told him if he could master those he’d be able to play something like half the songs on the radio. 

Eddie nodded reverently, and Wayne chuckled, dropping a kiss on the top of his head before leaving for his shift. 

He practiced those damn chords until his fingers bled, and loved every minute of it. It was still his happiest birthday to date.  

The trailer faded away and suddenly he was in the backstage area of the Hawkins Middle School auditorium, waiting for his turn to go on at the annual talent show. 

The other two members of his band stood watching the other acts from the wings with wide eyes, but Eddie? He was transfixed by Chrissy Cunningham as she rehearsed, twirling her pink glittery batton with incredible precision, throwing it up high in the air, and catching it with ease each time.

Until the one time she didn’t, and the stick bounced off of her palm and landed right at his feet. Eddie smiled and quickly bent to pick it up, moving to hand it back but as she reached out began to twirl it between his fingers like it was a drumstick, a skill developed out of boredom and as a way to hone the kind of dexterity he needed in his hands to play the type of music he loved. 

She giggled, clapping at his display when he bowed and returned the tool of her trade. 

He liked making her laugh, he realized—just plain liked her full stop, actually.

They sat and talked as they waited their turns and Eddie discovered that Chrissy was kind, and as beautiful on the inside as on the outside. He found himself wishing they could be friends, as dumb an idea as that was. She was a cheerleader, a popular kid, top of the food chain, and he was already well on his way to earning the title of Freak. They could never be friends, save for these few stolen moments behind the big black curtain. 

Except Eddie knew better now. They would be friends someday, best friends if he had anything to say about it. For a moment he wished he could go back for real, tell that little boy and girl how they’ll save each other—how much they’ll come to mean to each other one day. 

The theater lights went out, throwing the backstage area into an abrupt twilight as the scene around him shifted and changed—no longer age-worn linoleum cracking under his sneakers, now his bare feet rested on soft carpet, the walls surrounding him covered in the most hideous plaid wallpaper.

It was dark, the room unlit save for a few slivers of moonlight peaking in between the blinds as he climbed into the bed where Steve already lay. It was a night from exactly one week ago, in the previous loop, the last one they’d spent together before dying. 

Steve pulled him close, wrapping him up in his arms, entwining their legs until Eddie didn’t know where he ended and Steve began. 

It all felt so real, and so good. Like coming home. 

Steve was warm and solid and when Eddie nuzzled into his neck he didn’t pull away, he leaned in, rubbing his cheek against Eddie’s hair and pressing lips to it. 

It would have been easy to stay there in that memory as long as possible, but the fear of Vecna showing up and tainting it in some way was enough of a motivator to have Eddie wracking his brain for the next happy thought. 

He hadn’t really prepared for more than this, he wasn’t exactly a walking fount of good times, and it felt like he’d already been stuck in this mindscape, or whatever it was, for too long—but he tried. 

The only thing on his mind now was SteveSteveSteve, so it wasn’t much of a surprise when he blinked and found himself back behind Benny’s getting ready to head into the Upside Down, only to hear those two little words fall from Steve’s lips right behind him again. 

“Eddie, wait.”

He smiled to himself, waiting for the familiar touch of Steve’s hand on his elbow but it never came, instead there was a cool rattling breath on the back of his neck. 

Eddie whirled, gasping at the sight and scrambled backwards to get away from the vile creature that was now in front of him, much too close for comfort. Vecna, in his true form, a humanoid nightmare covered in taut sinewy flesh and raw meat.

His heart pounded and panic crawled up his throat like bile as he backed into the building, his hands slapping at the wall, searching for the gate that should be there. He just needed to get away, get enough distance between them so he could think, maybe come up with another memory to hide him. 

But then the wall was gone, something more like wet tree bark beneath his hands now. His vision swam, the light around him growing and changing, the sky no longer the blues and pinks of dusk—he was surrounded by a blood red haze. 

His fingers kept searching anyway until they brushed up against cold dead skin. He recoiled, screaming, and looked back to find the body of Fred Benson wrapped up in vines, and mounted like a trophy on a pole. 

This was not his memory, he’d never seen this place before, but needed only one guess to figure out where he was. No longer stuck in his own mind he must be in Vecna’s now, with no idea how to get out. 

A rushing sound filled the space between his ears, the rhythmic whooshing of blood as it pumped through his body, so loud inside his own head.

There was a thing out there that could help him, it was… it was right there on the tip of his tongue but he couldn’t—

His vision narrowed, the world whiting out around him, tipping on its side and he felt himself falling—falling for much longer than it should have taken to hit the ground. 

He landed on his back, blinking hard and tried to sit up, but he was so tired. He’d been running—hiding from something. He was almost sure. 

A familiar sound began far off in the distance, he strained to hear it, tried to recognize it, but his own pulse was still so loud and distracting. 

A pair of legs in jeans and sneakers—moving, alive—a girl, came into view.

He shrank away from her, unsure.

“Eddie? You shouldn’t be here. It’s time for you to go.”

“I don’t—how—what?”

Oh. 

The girl was El, she was his friend. He couldn’t remember before, couldn't seem to think straight.

“El,” he breathed, as she helped him to stand, shaking his head to try and clear some of the fog. “I–I don’t feel so good.”

“He’s dying, Eleven.” Vecna’s deep rasping voice boomed nearby as he approached them. “You can’t even save one of your friends, yet you expect to stop me?”

He raised a long gnarled claw in Eddie’s direction but El stepped in front, mirroring him with her own hand raised, the force of their power like a shimmering heat in the air between them.

Suddenly the strange noise got louder, and it wasn’t just noise, Eddie could make out the vocals now, the beating of the drums, the thrashing of the guitar.

“You hear it, the music?” Eleven shouted to him as she continued to hold Vecna at bay. “That is Steve calling you back to him. Look for him, Eddie. Find the way out. You have to hurry.”

The more he concentrated on it the better he could hear the rhythm and pulse of Master of Puppets being pumped into this place, beckoning to him—Steve and Joyce too, shouting his name—and he felt a little more like himself.

“What about you?” Eddie asked.

“I’ve got this.” She said, never taking her eyes off her target. In the next instant she let out a primal scream, a fierce shriek unlike anything he’d ever heard before, and Vecna went flying up in the air, his arms seemingly pinned to his sides. 

Eddie cast his gaze around wildly, looking for anything out of place in this hellscape, and finally spotted a faint light on the horizon that had to be his portal. He ran. It was a long way off but he gave it everything he had, arms pumping, legs burning. 

He stumbled, woozy and lightheaded, but caught himself—kept going. 

As he got close he could see himself floating there in the attic, Steve clinging to his leg, reaching for his hand, and without a second thought hurled himself head first into the mirage.

-

Eddie took a deep shuddering breath.

It was dark.

He was cold.

He couldn't feel anything.

“Steve?” He sobbed.

“I’m here, I’m here.”

Arms tightened around him and suddenly Eddie could feel again, everywhere Steve touched him at least, and something hot and wet that was dripping down his face. 

It was still dark.

“I can’t–I can’t see anything.”

Steve rocked him gently. “You’re safe. You’re safe, I’ve got you.”

He tried to move, to touch back, but there was an awful grinding pain.

Eddie hissed. “My arm—”

“Don’t try to move, okay? I don’t–” Steve's chest shook, Eddie thought he might be crying. “I don’t know how badly you’re hurt yet–”

It all went quiet abruptly.

Eddie drifted in the dark. It was a lot like the place he went between loops. 

“Eddie? Eddie?!”

He came back to himself with Steve shaking him, screaming his name. He tried to respond but every effort felt like far too much. Maybe he was dying again. If so, at least this time it would be in Steve’s arms. 

There were far worse ways to go.  

-

Eddie woke up.

It was a first for him, at least in recent experience, to wake up from unconsciousness in a hospital like a normal person instead of falling back into his body in the past.

His head ached but it was a distant thing, thanks to good ol’ prescription painkillers no doubt.

He blinked his eyes open slowly, a little stunned that he could see at all, but it was blurry and unfocused. There was a shapeless form wearing Steve’s clothes asleep in a chair by his bed, what looked like Robin in another by the door. He wondered how long he’d been out, if it was the same night. He tried to raise his arm, to reach for Steve even though he was too far away. But the arm was too heavy in its cast.

He fell asleep before he could try again. 

When he roused next, it was to low voices arguing quietly nearby.

“You don’t know that.”

“Seems pretty fucking clear to me, Robin. I’m–I'm gonna go. It doesn’t matter anyway.”

“Steve–”

“Don’t! Just—call me if anything happens?”

“Okay.”

A door closed, heavy and final.

That didn’t sound good. 

Eddie burned to know what they were talking about but sleep once again sucked him under mid-thought.

-

When he woke for good the sun was shining in through the windows, and Wayne, Chrissy, Robin, and Dustin were all sitting around his bed. He could see again.

It was Wayne who first noticed the change, jumping up out of his chair to hover over him.

“Boy you ever scare me like that again I'll kill you myself, you hear me?” The man muttered as he leaned down to give him a hug.

Eddie chuckled hoarsely into his uncle's shoulder, and could have cried with how happy he was to see him and his familiar gray stubble, the smell of Marlboro Reds wafting off his jacket. “I missed you too, old man.”

“You-all keep an eye on him,” Wayne said to the small crowd as he headed for the room’s door. “I’ll go and tell the nurse you’re awake.” 

Like he was going to get up and run away. 

Eddie carefully pushed himself up into a sitting position with his one good arm, surprised to find he wasn’t feeling worse. 

“What happened?” He asked, now that they were alone.

“They got him!” Chrissy beamed. 

“Hopper said they burned what they could–” Dustin elaborated, swallowing thickly. “And chopped the rest up into little pieces after El destroyed his mind. It’s over, for real this time.” 

Eddie sagged in relief, sinking back into his pillow.

“Oh thank fuck. Do you think that means the rest of it’s over too, the loops I mean? I don’t think I can do it again, man.”

“Well, since we don’t know what caused you to start looping to begin with there’s no way to know for sure, but if the catalyst is you dying, and here you are very much alive even if you did give us quite the fucking scare you asshole!” Dustin swatted him in the shoulder above his cast.

“Hey! Watch the goods!”

“I would say odds are you're safe from having to go back again. As long as you don’t, y’know, die for a while.” 

“Wasn’t planning on it.” Eddie grinned, hoping to draw a smile out of the kid, but he remained solemn and serious.

“Good.” Dustin said, flatly.

Eddie sighed. “Dustin, I–”

“We almost lost you.”

“I’m sorry.”

Eddie wanted to say more, but voices could be heard making their way down the hall towards his room, and he needed to know what he was supposed to say to them.

“Listen, quick, before they come in.” Robin jumped in, grasping the situation just as he had. “The official story is that you were attacked and kidnapped by the same serial killer who murdered Fred and Patrick, the long lost son of Victor Creel. You managed to escape, and Joyce and Steve found you on the side of the road and brought you here. If anyone asks for details just tell them you don’t remember.”

The last word was barely out of her mouth when the door swung open, revealing Wayne along with a doctor and two nurses, who quickly went about examining him. 

He got lucky—very lucky. As bad as he’d looked when he was brought in, unconscious and pale and covered in blood, it all boiled down to a few bruises and a broken arm. The doctor’s had worried for his sight, since much of the blood had seemed to come from his eyes, but on closer examination they couldn’t find an actual wound, and he passed a vision test with flying colors.

They wanted to hold him one more night for observation, but that was it. Come the next day he’d be free to go home, with a follow-up appointment scheduled for 6 weeks from now to come back and have his cast removed. 

Still, throughout the course of the day everyone paid him a visit, with one notable exception.

Steve never showed. 

No one brought him up and Eddie was too afraid of the answer to question it. 

He’d asked if they could talk later, pleaded with Steve to let him explain—and supposed his absence now was answer enough. Clearly Steve had decided he wasn’t worth hearing out. 

Chapter 12

Special thanks to @penny00dreadful for being the best beta, friend and cheerleader.

Reblogs are always appreciated, and if you want to be tagged just let me know! I'd be more than happy to do so 💜

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[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Head Over Heels

She really didn't think about it. She saw someone throwing Steve against the wall, and she lost all sense. Nancy had broken up with Jonathan when they left for California, and it had been the best thing for both of them. She had realized that she was still carrying a torch for Steve after Starcourt when she started tending to his wounds. She worked on being friends with him for months afterward, finally managing to stop being jealous of Robin when she realized she could never have feelings for Steve that went beyond friendship. She still hadn't gathered the courage to tell Steve she wanted to get back together. Now, here she was in the boathouse, watching Eddie hold Steve with a beer bottle to his neck. She picked up the oar and swung. It connected with the back of Eddie's head, and he collapsed.

"Nancy!" Dustin shrieked.

"I panicked!" Nancy exclaimed.

"He was scared!" Dustin yelled.

"So was I! I thought he was going to kill Steve!" Nancy exclaimed.

"He never would have!"

"You don't know that!" Nancy sighed. "Okay. Okay. Steve, are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Steve said with relief and knelt down next to Eddie. "Yeah, this guy is out. Damn, Nance."

Nancy knelt on his other side. She opened his eyelid to begin checking for a concussion. Eddie's eyed snapped opened and Nancy put a calming hand to his chest.

"Ow! Who the fuck hit me?" Eddie groaned.

"I did. I'm sorry. I thought you were going to hurt Steve," Nancy said.

"That's fair. I was holding a beer bottle to your boyfriend's neck. Got to say, refreshing to see the man being the damsel in distress and the woman being the hero for once," Eddie winced as Nancy cradled the back of his head and looked deeply into his eyes.

"Well, I don't think you have a concussion," Nancy replied.

"Well, that's great, but I'm curious to know if Harrington's pride is wounded at all," Eddie said.

"Hey, gender roles are a societal construct created to remind women of where they belong. I'm perfectly comfortable in my masculinity and my femininity, thank you," Steve said. "If my life's being saved, it doesn't matter that Nancy's a woman and I'm a man."

"Hot," Eddie and Nancy said, causing Nancy to look at him. "You know, I think I might actually have a concussion. I am not thinking straight."

"No," Nancy said, looking deeply into his eyes. "No concussion."

"Are you sure? Because I'm not thinking straight and thinking straight at the same time," Eddie said, pausing to look at Steve and Nancy. "So, what are you guys doing after this? Do you want to do something?"

"Is he asking us out?" Steve asked.

"Eddie, I just hit you over the head with an oar," Nancy said.

"I guess you could say you got me head over heels," Eddie replied with a smirk.

"You do have a concussion because holy shit, that was bad," Steve replied.

"As great as I think this is, is now really the time for this?" Dustin asked.

"I can't think of a better time," Steve shrugged, winking at Eddie and Nancy.

Nancy blushed. It looks like Steve was receptive. . . To both her and Eddie. It was turning out better than she thought. Dustin was right, though. It was the wrong time for this. First, they need to make sure that Eddie isn't framed for murder and then they can all flirt to their hearts' content.

[eriquin]

Cat's in the Cradle, part 10

This is the thing that won my poll about what to work on next, so it's getting more words now.

To recap: After dying in the Upside Down, Eddie's secret powers activated and he changed into a younger version of himself. He climbed out, found his uncle, and told him what happened. Uncle Wayne has seen it before. Now, he's trying to convince Dustin, Steve, and Robin that he is who he says he is. And who he says he is, is another kid who escaped from the lab.

(master post)

Eddie continued to hide behind Steve. It was cowardly, but he had picked up on the older-brother vibes that Steve got around the kids and he was going to take advantage of it. A glance at Wayne’s watch told him that his uncle wouldn’t be looking for him for another hour. He hoped that he passed whatever test Eleven had for him, because he didn’t know what he’d do if he couldn’t convince his friends that he was still himself. Maybe they’d let him go and he’d climb in Wayne’s truck and run away again. He just wasn’t sure if he’d be able to live with himself if he did that. 

He didn’t remember Eleven. The only kids he remembered at all had numbers lower than his own. He had been thinking it over a lot since Nancy had come out of her trance and explained who Vecna was, and he didn’t think he’d ever met the man. And when they’d let on where their friend with superpowers had come from, he’d done the math. She would have been little more than a toddler when his family had gotten him out of the lab. He didn’t remember any little kids being there at all. Maybe Wayne would know. 

The truth was that most of his time in the lab was a cloudy blur. He didn’t know what they thought he’d be able to do, but every time they gave him a test, they were disappointed. He’d avoided thinking about it for close to a decade now, because he got a headache every time he did.

There was a humming noise from somewhere on the other side of the room. It wasn’t the walkie, which Dustin was now using to snipe at Mike. He knew that Mike and Dustin liked to argue over things, but he thought that they’d be working together with all the things that were going on. This sounded like an emotionally charged argument with no good resolution. 

Robin was joining in on the walkie argument. The humming noise got louder, drowning out their voices. Eddie pressed his hands to his ears and shut his eyes. It didn’t block out the humming noise, but just as it got loud enough to start causing him pain, it stopped. He opened his eyes and saw nothing but blackness. He was sitting in a cold, empty space. The ground was covered in an inch or so of water, but he didn’t feel wet. He stood up and spun around.

There was a girl standing in front of him. She had a buzzcut, wore a floral shirt and white pants, and looked surprised to see him. He fidgeted with the ends of his sleeves. “Are you Eleven?” he asked. 

She nodded. “You can see me?” 

He hugged himself. “Well, yeah.” He looked around again. “Where are we?” 

“The void,” she said. “Are you Eddie?” 

He nodded. “Yeah.” 

“You look strange. Not like before, when you were all together and planning to fight.”

“I look like a kid now, right?” 

El shook her head. “No. You’re not solid. You keep shifting.” 

Eddie froze. “What? Sorry. I’ll try to stay still.”

“Not moving. You are both young and old. It’s hard to look at.” She blinked a few times. “Were you Seven? Is that why Dustin asked about him?” 

Eddie nodded. “I was, a long time ago. I changed after I got out, got younger. And then, a few years later, I got older again. Now I’m...” He held his hands out to his sides. 

She squinted at him, reached out, and put her hand on his shoulder. “Oh, I see you now.” She smoothed his hair back. “I like your hair.” 

The humming noise was coming back. “I liked it better when it was long,” he said. The noise got louder faster, and he looked to the side. “What is that?” 

She looked around. “I don’t know,” she said. “But I think it means I should go. I will tell Dustin who you are. Be careful, Eddie.” She let go of him, turned around, and started to walk away.

Eddie took a step towards her, but the humming noise echoed all around him. His head started to pound. He covered his ears, shut his eyes, and fell to his knees. He didn’t hit the ground, but just kept falling. 

He didn’t remember landing but when he opened his eyes, he was flat on his back and laying on something soft. The ceiling above him was spinning in a circle and he felt like he had a bad hangover. He lifted up his hand to touch his hair. It was still short. 

“Oh my god, Eddie. You’re awake,” Dustin said. “Guys, he’s awake.” 

Dustin’s face came into view. It was also spinning. Eddie groaned and shut his eyes again. “Don’t wanna be,” he said. His voice was still high pitched. He sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

“Gah, don’t do that! We just got it to stop,” Robin said. She grabbed his hand and held it away from his face. “And he’s bleeding again.” 

“Guys, move,” Steve said. Eddie felt a tissue pressed against his nose and a hand behind his head. “Come on, sit up a bit. It’ll be easier to get the bleeding to stop.”

“Dizzy,” Eddie said. “Gonna puke.”

“Gross,” Robin said. He heard her retreat. 

There was some rapid shuffling next to him and the echo of a plastic container next to his head. “We gotcha. Come on.” Steve gently rolled him onto his side. He opened his eyes to see a little trash can, complete with plastic bag liner, right in front of his face. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and emptied the contents of his stomach into it. 

When he was done, he felt a warm hand on his back, patting him gently. It was Dustin, who had sat down on the couch next to him. “You okay there, buddy?” he asked. “Feel any better?”

“Bleh,” Eddie said, spitting into the can. His head didn’t hurt as much and he wasn’t so dizzy, so he supposed he did feel better. But his mouth tasted awful and his nose was still bleeding. “What happened?”

Steve crouched down in front of him. “You done?” he asked. Eddie nodded. He held out a glass of water. “Rinse your mouth out, then we’ll take care of your nosebleed.” 

“We thought you’d been cursed,” Dustin explained as Eddie took the glass from Steve. “El said she was looking for you. Then you got up and your eyes went blank. She said she found you, and then she was talking to you and your nose was bleeding, and then you collapsed.” 

“Great,” he said. He picked his head up and looked around the room. It wasn’t spinning anymore and the lights were low, which helped with his headache. Steve had taken the trash can away and he could hear him talking to Robin in the kitchen. “Did I pass her test? Do you believe me now?” 

Dustin’s chin quivered and he threw his arms around Eddie, pulling him close. “I’m sorry,” he sobbed. “I just... You died! In my arms! And it’s only been two days and I have not been dealing with it well.” 

“Yeah, I get that,” Eddie said, trying to turn from where he was pinned in place. “Dude, I’m gonna bleed on you.” 

“You already did, asshole,” Dustin said. He squeezed Eddie tight once more before letting him go and wiping the tears from his face. Then he smacked Eddie on the arm, hard. “Don’t you ever do that shit again.” 

“Ow, fuck,” Eddie said, rubbing his arm. “You beating up children now, Henderson?” 

“You’re not really a child.” 

“I’m fragile,” Eddie said, letting a little quiver creep into his voice. Steve came back with a wet washcloth and a box of tissues. “Also I’m a crybaby now so you have to be nice to me.” 

“Or we just make fun of you until you grow out of it,” Steve said, grabbing a tissue and dabbing at Eddie’s bloody nose. “I assume that’s what happened the first time.” 

“Of course you would think like that,” Eddie said. He sat still and let Steve clean up his face. “You were a bully.” 

“He still is,” Dustin said. “He bullies me all the time. Tells me to shut up, calls me a butthead.” 

“That’s ‘cause you’re a butthead, butthead,” Steve said. He leaned over and flicked his fingers at Dustin’s face, just short of where it would have hit his nose. Dustin didn’t even blink. “Hm, you’ve learned not to flinch though. Good job.” 

Eddie held a tissue to his nose and saw that it wasn’t bleeding anymore. “How long ago did I pass out?” He checked his wrist, but Wayne’s watch had fallen off. He leaned over the edge of the couch to look on the floor for it, and the blood rushed to his head and made him dizzy again. He swore and slowly tried to lay back down on the couch. 

“What are you doing?” Steve asked. “Do you need to throw up again?” 

Eddie shook his head. “My head hurts,” he said. “And I keep getting dizzy.” 

“Psychic stuff probably has some after effects on you,” Dustin said. “That sucks.”

“I’ll check the medicine cabinet for some painkillers,” Steve said. “Does the light hurt? Maybe we should just let you sleep.” 

“What time is it?” Eddie asked. “Did you guys take my watch? It’s my uncle’s. I’m supposed to meet him at eight.” 

“I got it,” Steve said. “It fell off when we were moving you.” 

“Also, it’s quarter past,” Dustin said. 

“Shit,” Eddie said. He tried to get up again, but Steve put his hand on his chest and pushed him back down. He started to whine, “But he’s gonna worry!”

“I’ll go find him,” Steve said. “Where were you gonna meet?” 

“He’ll be parked on the corner,” Eddie said. “He’s got a pickup. It’s gray and—”

“Yeah, there’s not a lot of people hanging out in their cars right now,” Steve said. He pulled a scarf off the coat rack and wrapped it around his face. “I’m pretty sure I can find him.”

“Take a flashlight,” Robin said from the doorway. She was holding a plate and eating dinner. “And a weapon.” 

“Got it,” Steve said, grabbing his flashlight. “I’ll grab the bat from the car.” 

After he left, Eddie rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling until he was sure it wasn’t spinning. “He keeps a bat in his beamer?” 

“The nail bat,” Dustin said. “He used it against demodogs in ‘84.” 

“Nail bat?” Eddie muttered. “You didn’t tell me that. That’s...”

“Pretty metal, right?” 

“Fuck yeah, it is.” 

Robin had disappeared and came back with a bottle of pills that she shook at them. “Hey, Mini-Munson. You want some?” 

“Yes, please,” Eddie said. He tried to sit up again and managed it when moving slowly. “How’s my face?”

“Babyish,” Robin said. 

Eddie stuck out his tongue. “I meant, am I still bloody?” 

“No, you’re good.” She sat down next to him on the couch and handed him a couple of pills. Dustin had the water glass again. “Did you want some dinner, or is that gonna make you hork again?” 

Eddie took the pills one at a time. “Let me see if I can keep this down first.”

[undreaming-fanfiction]

With This Ring (6)

Chapter 5 here, Ao3 here

“When I find that dingus, I’m going to strangle him! What was he thinking, leaving like that?!” 

Robin’s voice was way more hoarse than normal. She’d been pacing in Nancy’s room for nearly an hour, still hoping for a phone call, a message, anything from Steve that would indicate that the plan is still on. But hours were passing by, it had already gone dark and apart from the muffled voices of Nancy’s parents downstairs, the Wheeler household was eerily quiet. 

For the first time in her life, Nancy wished her brother Mike would knock on her door and ask her for something, anything to chase away the growing tension. 

“I don’t…I can’t blame him if he did,” said Nancy. She was staring down at her hands, willing the fingertips to stop trembling. This wasn’t like her. “He’d stuck around long enough. He basically put his life on hold for me. So…”

She pressed her lips together. She wouldn’t feel bitter, she promised herself. But every single minute felt like a betrayal, so close to the goal. 

Only it wasn’t Steve’s fault. It was the whole town, the expectations, her parents. 

“Oh no. Nonono. Nancy.” Robin was kneeling in front of her now, intertwining their fingers and squeezing her hand. “Please don’t think that way. Steve wouldn’t do that, I make fun of him a lot, like a lot lot. But he’s the most kind-hearted, dependable guy in the entire Hawkins. When he says something, he means it.”

Nancy squeezed the hand back. “That’s even worse,” she whispered. “Because I know you’re right. If he hasn’t given up on this whole…plan, then it means something’s happened to him. That terrifies me even more.” 

“Nancy…”

She looked into Robin’s eyes, firm and determined, everything Robin loved about her and more. “Think, Robs. Where would he go? Where do we start looking? Because this isn’t just about the plan anymore, I can…run away alone and you can join me when you can, I don’t mind waiting if you don’t.” 

Robin snorted. “Please. As if there’s a world where I mind. But, for the sake of your very bright future…we need to figure something out. I’d go to the woods, maybe? He told me he sometimes goes there to clear his head, think. Maybe that’s what he did?” She sounded hopeful, trying to convince both Nancy and herself. 

Nodding, Nancy wiped at her eyes. “Right. That sounds reasonable, let’s start there. I’m just…sorry. I’m okay with problems, just…not when I’m the one causing them to others.” 

“Oh love. No. No, you’re not.” Robin’s hands were on her face now, cradling it with care Nancy didn’t feel she deserved. “You never chose this. And even if we have to run away and live in sin somewhere, as reverend Brenner loves to say, it will be worth it. I love you too much to let you rot here. So keep that in your beautiful head, hm?” 

Nancy couldn’t help it, she burst out laughing. It was more shaky than she’d have liked, but with Robin at her side, nothing seemed impossible. “God, what an awful mess. You’re right, less moping around, more searching for Steve.” 

Robin mirrored her smile. “Right. After all, being the calm and rational one doesn’t suit me. That’s you in this relationship.” 

But as Nancy got up to prepare for their search, she heard something that made blood freeze in her veins: the sound of the door being locked and her father’s hurried footsteps behind it.

Chapter 7 here

[starlightshadowsworld]

The new Hopper part 5

Part 4

Trigger warning for Vance having a flashback, blood. And what some might call an excessive use of the word "mother fucker."

But this is a fic staring Vance Hopper, so you should have expected this at some point.

.

Jim Hopper was not one people usually thought of as smart.

He'd be one of the first to tell you. And he didn't care to be, he'd leave that to the Joyce's and Nancy's of the world.

But Jim had always prided himself on his ability to read others.

He knew people.

Right now he knew more people than he had ever known. As terrifying a thought as that was, it was also a comforting one.

He knew people.

Good people.

Smart people.

Hurt people.

Jim knew what hurt looked like. Knew it from the moment El came into his care.

When he got to know Joyce.

His own reflection when Sara died.

Jim knew hurt and pain like an old friend. And so he knew just by looking at him, that someone had hurt his nephew.

Jim knew it wasn't his mother, Abigail "Gale" Hopper was one of the kindest people he'd ever met.

Nor his father, given he'd walked out on them when Vance was 3.

Back than Jim had offered her a place in Hawkins. And maybe deep down he missed her and wanted her close.

Not that he told her that.

But Gale had built a life in Denver and for all she and Jim differed, they were both incredibly stubborn.

And she was determined to make it work. He had to hand it to her, she had.

The two had stayed in contact through letters. One's they sent regularly and had done so for years.

Or at least they had, the letters had stopped on his end when Sara died.

He just stopped replying.

Stopped trying.

He couldn't bring himself to let anyone in. But the letters didn't stop on her side.

Even when a response was never given, Gale kept writing. She stopped asking questions, instead talking about her day.

Annoying customers at the local diner, the trouble her son was getting up to. Just updates about her life here and there.

He read them.

He didn't reply.

But he kept them.

It was the only connection he had to the world. To remind him he was human.

But their was a point where the letters became infrequent.

He never thought about it until Russia. Having all the time in the world to think.

He remembered looking at letters where the ink had smudged.

Where he couldn't even begin to decipher them.

Tear stains bleeding through.

At the time he hadn't thought anything of them.

In Russia he couldn't get them out of his head. That his sister, his sweet kind patient sister had been hurting.

And he had done nothing.

At some point the letters returned back to their normal format.

Almost like it had never happened.

But Jim couldn't erase them from his mind in prison.

He thought of Gale not knowing whether he was dead or alive.

Of how many hours she spent writing to him, putting away a certain amount just to be able to write to a brother who never write back.

And so Jim sat and he wrote. He smudged the ink in places and he took a while to get the darn stamp onto the envelope.

But he did it.

And he got one back.

And another.

And another.

Until they were both writing like time had never passed.

Perhaps that's why she felt so safe and sure to send her son into his care.

He'd met Vance once. He had been born before the wedding. While Gale and whatsisface had been giving their vows, Jim had been cradling Vance.

To think it was him in his home now, all grown up was something.

... Man he was old.

Looking at Vance now, Jim saw Gale in him. He had her long curly hair, her bright blue eyes.

And her smile.

Someone had hurt that boy.

Because for the fragments of things Jim knew about Vance, he was tough.

Kid got into fights regularly and it had taken multiple cops to pull him off someone at times.

Vance looked at Steve... Or rather Finney, he was still wrapping his head around that one. When Vance looked at him he was happy.

He was easy going, sat in a group of people he mostly didn't know and held his own.

But when Vance looked at Jim, all of that drained away.

It was a look Jim was familiar with.

The one Eddie Munson had when a younger Jim Hopper had told him he was taking him back to his dad.

The one El had when she saw Brenner.

The look Will had whenever he felt a chill on his neck.

The one Steve had when he'd had his ass kicked by Billy, and Jim had approached him and the kids.

Fear.

It hurt to watch these kids, these strong, dumbass, loving, hearts the size of houses, wonderful, amazing, kids... Look so utterly terrified and afraid.

It made Jim feel violent.

Made him want to tear down the world, burn it all to the ground just for hurting them.

Joyce had smiled at him softly, told him that's what parenthood is like.

Unclehood too apparently.

Jim had known from the moment Gale had handed him Vance in the delivery room to hold.

That he would burn this world and the next to the ground just protect this kid.

And he failed him.... He failed him just like Vance's father had, just as his own father had failed him.

That kid was terrified of him.

And if that didn't break Jim's already shattered heart.

He had to fix this.

Show Vance that he wasn't a threat, wasn't going to hurt him.

It was late, but he could start by checking up on him. Kid had travelled quite a ways here at the last minute and was staying in a strangers house.

But Jim didn't want to overcrowd him. He could make things worse going to him.

"Hop?"

Jim looked up and saw El standing beside him. He hadn't even noticed her coming in, too caught up in his own thoughts.

"Hey kid, can't sleep?"

She nodded, sitting beside him. They had a system these days, when they couldn't sleep at night and went to each other.

El hadn't trusted him for while either, they had gone through their own journey. And had come out the other side, together.

"Something on your mind?"

"Why... Why didn't you tell me that you had a sister?"

Jim softened "honestly, I hadn't told anyone I had one. Not because I didn't love her, but because we both loved our lives so seperately. I kept her far away for a long time... But I shouldn't have."

El sat silently, mulling it over and he let her think. "Okay, but will you tell me about her now?"

He nodded "whatever I know that you wanna know. She sends me letters, they don't come here directly I pick em from the post office. But you can look through em if you want."

She grinned at that before looking sad. "Vance is scared of you. Like I was scared of you. Why?"

That was the million dollar question wasn't it?

"I think he has his own bad men, or someone like them who hurt him. I don't think if was his mum, but I don't know who." He answered honestly.

El furrowed her brows, becoming determined. "I won't let any bad men hurt him. He's my... Cousin?" Jim nodded, proud.

He knew she would. Kid might not be his blood but she had his protectiveness.

He would too.

"Since we're both up, why don't we have some hot chocolate. You wanna go see if Vance is still up? He can join us if he wants too." That felt like a safe first step.

Vance might be more comfortable if it was El doing the asking.

She grinned, accepting it. "If he says yes, can we can have eggo's?" Jim shook his head "you can have eggo's tomorrow."

But he knew that look, El had her heart set and nothing he could do would change her mind. "... I suppose a few wouldn't hurt." He relented.

She cheered before making her way downstairs.

The things he did for these kids. Jim wondered if Vance liked eggo's too.

"Hop!"

He froze momentarily before getting his bearings and running to the basement.

His heart stopped.

The basement hadn't had many things in it to begin with. It had been neat and tidy earlier, and now it was trashed.

The wardrobe had been tipped over. The bed sheets had been ripped off. The mattress lay disgarded on the side of the room.

Vance's bag lay by the far wall, it's contents spilled out onto the floor.

Their was a sizable dent in the wall and to Hopper's horror, a bloody hand print.

He didn't have to search for Vance, El pointed a shaky hand to the bed.

Crammed underneath was Vance.

And if Hopper's heart hadn't already broke before it did not.

With the mattress gone he could see his nephew without anything shielding him from view .

Although he wished he couldn't.

Vance was curled up in a ball, it was something that he could even fit under the bed.

"Vance, it's Jim. It's your uncle Jim. Can I come over there?"

That was the wrong thing to say.

Blue eyes that weren't focusing on Jim, stared unflinchly at the air before him.

"Stay away from me, Motherfucker! Get near me, and I'll end you here and now, you sick fuck!"

Tears stained Vance's cheeks and his bleeding fist was curled up in the other, leaving a pool on the ground.

"You like that, motherfucker? Your little secret den all trashed because of me! What are you gonna do cry? Cry because your pathetic little kiddy den is as pathetic as you!"

Vance's eyes blazed but their was fear in them.

His whole body was trembling, making the bed creak just by being near him.

"Yeah! Yeah! Oh you wanna cry? Good! Cos today's the day this ends, motherfucker!"

Jim looked down at El. "El, El I need you to go upstairs." But she wasn't paying attention to him. Not that he could blame her.

But they needed to get help.

Vance had fallen silent, the mirth in his eyes fading. Going wide in terror... before he screamed.

"... No! No! Motherfucker! You put Griff down, you sick fuck! LET HIM GOO!!!"

That was the last straw for El who tried to run over to him. That snapped Jim back to attention and he stopped her.

"But he needs help!"

"I know, but we might accidentally make this worse." That stopped her from struggling, terrified at the concept.

"You want to help? Go upstairs to the phone, call Steve. Tell him what's going on with Vance, tell him to bring Robin and come as soon as he can. If he doesn't pick up, call Family Video, the numbers are on the fridge."

El nodded, absorbing it all so quickly and took off running upstairs like she was being chased.

He definitely was going to get her eggo's later.

Jim against his better judgement, left as well to grab the first aid kit before rushing back in.

Vance was crying, full on bawling his eyes out. "Let him go! Griff! Griff! No, no not, Bruce! Give him back!"

He was grabbing his hair, getting blood in it. He'd gone near silent now, the only sounds his own heart wrenching sobs and shuddered breathing.

Occasionally he'd scream and curse and shout.

"Stay away! Stay away from them motherfucker! Get me instead! I'm the one you want asshole! Leave them alone!"

Jim felt the same temptation as El had, the urge to run over and pull this bleeding, crying hurting child into his arms.

And take away all the pain he was in.

But he knew that wasn't how this worked.

He knew what this was.

It was the kind of thing they say soilders experience. People do to, normal folk who undergo traumatic things.

He hated that it was happening to Vance.

Hated that he couldn't help his nephew sooner.

How long he spent down here trapped in his own hellscape.

But he would be their now.

"Helps on the way kid."

__________________________

"You are 3 for 3 popeye." Chuckled Robin, putting another tally mark for her in the score sheet.

Finney smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. "What's up? You normally love losing at tic tac toe." She could tell something was wrong instantly.

He can't remember a time when she couldn't.

"I dunno... Just, got a bad feeling."

Robin frowned, about to question him deeper before the phone rang.

Finney froze.

Robin reached over, squeezed his shoulder. Silently reassuring him that she could hear it too.

Before shuffling over and picking the phone. "This is Lola's mortuary and pizzeria where yesterday's loss is today's sauce, how may I help you?"

Finney stifled a laugh and she swatted his shoulder with a grin.

A grin which fell not a second later. "El? Hey, hey woah slow down." Robin sent Finney a frantic look and he took the phone from her.

"El, hey its Steve what's up?"

"Steve! Hop told me to call, I don't know what's wrong but Vance is hiding under the bed and I think he made a mess.

But he's crying and he's yelling and I don't know why, oh and his hands bleeding he's hurt and Hop said for you and Robin to come over." Rambled El, sniffling.

Finney's blood ran cold.

Vance. Vance he needed to go to Vance, now.

"We're coming now." He ended the call, Robin didn't need an explanation. She quickly put the close sign up, they locked up and the two got into Finney's car.

"Vance?" She asked, Finney nodded, not taking his eyes off the road.

He drove faster than he'd ever driven before, threw himself out the door not even bothering to lock it and ran into Hopper's house.

He wasn't too late, he wouldn't be. Vance needed him, he would get to him.

El said nothing when they burst in. She simply pointed to the basement and Finney wanted to scream.

He didn't, he jumped down the steps and ran past Hopper. Barely taking in the destroyed room.

And walking over, only stopping when he was several steps away from Vance.

"Vance, Vance it's Finney." Said Finney, in as gentle of a voice as he could muster.

"Finney?"

Vance frowned, clearly having heard him but couldn't see him. "Yeah, yeah it's me. I'm right here." Said Finney, tears in his eyes.

This never got easy.

Vance shuffled, flinching at his injured hand hitting the wooden planks of the bed. He looked up at Finney, meeting his eye.

"Can you see me?"

"I see you... You look different though."

"Yeah, you know how old I am? 20." Vance gasped, shaking his head "No... Your 13. Right?"

There was something about Vance been terrified, not knowing who or where he is.

But the moment he saw Finney he trusted him immediately. Even when none of it made sense to Vance he trusted Finney.

"Not anymore. I'm 20 now, and your 22." Vance went quiet, just looking at him.

Finney let him, he was thinly aware of Robin telling Hop they had it under control. Ushering him and El upstairs and guarding the door.

God he loved her.

"But the Grabber..." Vance frowned because to him he was still in the Grabbers basement.

"Is dead." Said Finney, gentle but firmer than he had been prior. "He's hurting Griff and Bruce." Cried Vance.

Finney let himself move closer, still keeping his distance as much as it hurt.

"Griff's at home, so is Bruce. We got out. We all got out. The Grabber is dead, I killed him."

He said it again.

And again.

And again.

Finney would say it for the rest of his life if it got Vance to believe him.

He lost count but eventually Vance did.

"Finney?"

"Yeah, Vance?"

"... Think I'm stuck." He said, attempting to wiggle out from under the bed.

Finney snorted, tears in his eyes that started to fall.

He was back.

"Can I help you?" Vance looked at him, looked at him with the most trusting eyes a person could ever have.

And nodded.

Once free, Vance slumped into Finney's arms, boneless and exhausted. And quite disoriented.

"Don't let go...." He whispered, resting his head on Finney's shoulder. Finney shook his head, holding him closer.

Wishing he could tuck Vance in his ribcage where he'd be safe from the world and his own mind.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Vance nodded, silent for a bit, catching his own breathe as it even out.

Inhaling Farah Fawcett hairspray, feeling the stiff Family Video vest over a soft yellow jumper.

Grounding himself.

Before looking up "Bobin, get your arse over and join us."

Robin, also tearful because she and Finney were just connected at this point and she feels what he does, shuffles over.

And pulls them both into a big hug.

Vance sighed and for the first time in what feels like a long time, felt himself relax.

His hand hurt, he wasn't entirely sure why the room was a mess or what he'd done to his hand.

Nor what had happened since leaving the Byers house, it was all fuzzy.

But for now, all that mattered was that Finney and Robin had him.

He was safe.

And that was enough for now.

[glowingraindrops]

You Drew Stars Around My Scars

Prt.1

————————————————————————

Eddie was bleeding. Eddie was bleeding a lot. Streams of crimson oozed and puddled around his nearly lifeless body as Dustin cradled his head. For a second, all Steve could do was watch Eddie gasp for air and breathily tell Dustin he's sorry. He didn't know he was crying until the ringing in his ears dissipated upon hearing a muted cry of “Help him”, and with wobbly legs he brought Eddie out of the upside down. Robin and Nancy were already waiting in the backseat of the car when Steve threw the door open, shoving a dying Eddie into the arms of Nancy on the driver's side and an injured Dustin into the arms of Robin on the passenger side. Eddie was situated with his legs propped up on both Robin and Dustin's thighs and his head was gently placed on Nancy's lap. Steve hadn't waited another second to climb into the driver's seat and step on the gas.

He was probably going well above the speed limit and was almost positive that the seatbelt was jammed into the door, but he could hear Dustin sobbing and desperately pleading to Nancy to save Eddie. If Steve were a little braver, he would have offered some words of encouragement, but he didn't really trust his voice to not tremble. He didn't stop to see the dying trees looming over them and didn't notice the clock standing to the side of the road, but he heard it. He could hear the tell-tale ticking of the old grandfather clock, but all he did was press onto the gas a little harder. What that meant for Max, he didn't know. All that he could do was hope that she, Lucas, and Erica were safe.

“Hey, Robs, do you have our mixtape on hand?” Robin had kind of sputtered for a second before gesturing wildly at a very pale looking Dustin, and an even paler looking Eddie, who had seemed to have stopped bleeding at some point. Steve didn't know if that meant Nancy was able to stop the blood from spilling out of him, or if that meant Eddie had no more blood left to offer. He desperately hoped it was the former.

“Dingus, r-right now isn’t really the fucking time t-to listen to music!”

Upon looking at the rearview mirror, Steve had thought he saw his father glare at him, but he blinked and the vision was gone.

“Yeah, I know but-”

“Eddie’s dying, a-and Dustin's leg is probably broken-”

He didn't know why Robin's voice started to sound more and more like his mothers, but it made his stomach turn and he needed to shut her up fast before he did something stupid, like crash the car.

“Robs, please, I need-”

“And- and we haven't heard from the rest of the party!, and they could be dead too and-”

“Robin, please for the love of god, will you listen to me!?”

“A-and the cops are still probably looking f-for Eddie, so we don't even know if we can sa-”

“ROBIN, I CAN SEE A FUCKING CLOCK IN THE ROAD!”

His grip tightened on the steering wheel.Steve was pretty sure that he had left a dent on the leather of the wheel, but he wasn't quite certain. A tense silence fell upon them, the only sounds heard being the humming of the engine and the ever growing ticks of the clock echoing in the hollows of Steve's ears and mind.

“I-I can see the stupid fucking clock in the road, and I’m not really looking to crash right now so please! Just get out the mixtape Robin and HELP me!”

Steve hadn't needed to turn around to know that Robin, Dustin, and Nancy were crying. He heard it well enough from the front seat.

With shaky hands, Robin had handed him the mix tape she and Steve made together around their first week at Family Video. Steve couldn't remember everything that was put on it, but he knew that a mixture of Bowey, ABBA, Tears for Fears, and Blondie were all muddled together somewhere within the mixtape. He was almost able to smile at the memory of Robin loudly complaining about putting “Girls Just Want To Have Fun” on the mixtape. She couldn't stand the voice of Cyndi Lauper.

Almost.

With a shuddering breath, Steve inserted the mixtape into the cassette slot. The opening notes of “King of Nothing” drowned out the deafening chimes of the old grandfather clock. He could still see the dreadful thing sitting at the side of the road, and he swore he saw a younger version of Tommy H. sitting in the seat next to him, but his anxiety slowly dissipated as the cassette tape continued to blast the opening words of the song Steve so dearly loved and loathed on the car stereo.

‘When I was 17, I

Dreamed of being king and-’

“…Steve….?”

“…”

“Come on, talk to us, Steve! Please don't leave us, I'm begging you. ”

‘Dreams did not unfold so

I'm still the king of nothing’

“...I'm still here…”

Robin had let out an audible breath of relief before hiccuping and reaching across Dustin to grab onto Steve's shoulder. Steve found himself leaning into the grounding touch for a moment before being startled out of his daze by a speed bump. “Oh thank fuck, I-I thought you were… Goddamnit Steve, you can’t do that to me!… I thought… Holy shit, I thought you were gone…” Her voice had tapered out, and Steve had to hold himself back from letting out an audible sob. It had been a wonder that he was still able to keep the car in the right lane throughout all of this shit. Dustin and Nancy didn't say anything, but he could hear the relieved sigh Nancy let out, and the pained cry of relief Dustin had tried to stunt. It was unlike Dustin to be so… quiet. He should have been loudly berating Steve for scaring him like that, so why hadn't he?

‘But that was slumbers fault for

I have no love at all and

I’m still the king of nothing’

“You can’t get rid of me that easily, Buckley.”

‘If I could rule I'd dance my cares away

Find romance every day

I wouldn't have to listen to this poor fool say

I'm the king

I'm the king

I'm the king of nothing’

‘If I could rule I'd dance my cares away

Find romance every day

I wouldn't have to listen to this poor fool say

I'm the king

I'm the king

I'm the king of nothing’

—----------------------------------------------------—

(Preview to next chapter)

They made it to the hospital. Steve was pretty sure he broke every traffic law to ever exist, but they fucking made it. He didn’t think twice before shutting off the car and pulling Eddie out of Nancy's hands. Distantly, he was aware of the ticking growing louder and louder in the back of his ears, but he chose not to acknowledge it. He was walking away with Eddie held in his arms before the others could drag him back into the car. He could hear Dustin and Robin screaming at him, but all he could do was hold Eddie a little tighter and keep pushing his legs to work just a little bit longer.

————————————————————————

I will definitely write more of this! This is my first post on here and I actually had two of my friends proof read this do I hope its ok. If yall love this as much as I do I will definitely keep posting it on here! If not ill probs just upload to my Ao3 later :)

Have an amazing day/night! Pls leave suggestions and criticism :)

[mythtaker]

a hunger we keep inside

tags : steddie , vampire!steve , blood drinking, starvation word count : 2,372 summary : they won. everything worked out, everyone survived, everything’s finally okay. but what’s up with steve harrington?

Five days after they defeat Vecna, Steve Harrington finds himself at Hopper’s cabin for dinner.

–

The place has been cleaned and fixed considerably since Steve last saw it. Apparently Joyce and Hopper have been busy because it’s actually quite nice inside, all things considered. It’s still dimly lit, like it's always been, and there’s less furniture. (The Byers are still in the process of moving back, so Steve’s sure it will feel as homely as it ever was in a week or so.) The hole in the ceiling is patched, and the boards on the windows have been replaced with glass. Steve makes a note to offer a helping hand. (He remembers Hopper mentioning renovation plans to add a couple more bedrooms for Jonathan and Will and he knows the process would go a lot faster with more bodies.)

The house is split into two groups. The kids are all packed away in Eleven's room, eating and chatting. Laughter filters through the crack in the door and it makes Steve smile. The 'grown ups' (Steve isn't convinced that straight out of high school should mean you're an adult but who is he to say) are sitting around a big sturdy dining table. The unpolished wood is rough against Steve's wrists where they rest at the edge of the table, but it doesn't bother him. He smiles around himself, taking in all of the side conversations everyone is having in between bites of their food. He doesn't remember the last time he had a meal like this.

His parents didn't have dinners with him. They were always too busy, always away. And Tommy and Carol stopped having lunch with him after their falling out. So for the rest of high school he spent most of his lunch period eating in his car. Even now, graduated, he eats alone most of the time.

"Steve, honey," Joyce's voice breaks him from his thoughts. She's quiet, leaning closer to him to keep from drawing attention. "You okay? You haven't touched your food."

Steve recoils, cheeks aflame. Truth be told, he hasn't been eating much lately. His appetite has gone and it refuses to come back and instead lingers a bit of nausea. He's not entirely sure why. He thinks, perhaps, he's getting sick. Or maybe he already is, but whatever is wrong with him doesn't feel normal. It's not an illness he can put a name to.

Steve cradles his body, where the bat bites have scabbed over but on occasion still pulse and sting, and smiles at Joyce. He gives her a half-assed excuse and grabs his fork, psyching himself up to choke down a few bites. He doesn't want to be rude and the food does look rather good.

The first forkful goes down okay, though it feels like lead at the pit of his stomach. And the second takes a bit more chewing but he manages that too. He's concentrating so hard on keeping it all down that he's missing the conversations happening around him. Robin's beside him, talking with Nancy and Jonathan across the table. Or, she was, but Steve realizes he can't hear her voice anymore and he can feel eyes boring holes into his head.

A hand comes to steady his own. "Steve, you're shaking." Robin points out, too loud for his liking. And when did he start trembling like a goddamn chihuahua? Now everyone's looking at him, and that's not- he didn't want to cause a scene.

Steve drops his fork, tucking his hands under the table, and shrugs. "Just a little cold."

Robin nods, eyebrows furrowed. "I've noticed," she says, squeezing tighter. "Your hands are freezing."

He pulls away gently, shaking himself. "I think I might have caught a cold or something." Steve says with an abashed smile, hoping he doesn't seem as shaken as he feels. He steels himself further and looks around, offering eye contact as assurance that he's just fine.

The night moves along but Steve doesn't try to eat again. He leaves early, claiming to be tired and in need of rest. He only makes it halfway to his house before he has to stop and expel the food from his gut.

Nobody sees Steve for the three days that he tucks himself away in his house, but he makes sure to call Robin to assure her that he’s fine, just ‘recovering’. He knows he can trust her to relay that to the others.

Steve doesn't sleep the first night. Despite his claim, Steve doesn't feel tired at all. He lays in bed and stares up at the ceiling and his mind races but he doesn't feel the need to toss and turn, just reflect. It's unlike him, which maybe cements that somethings not quite right, because he's never been able to keep himself still before.

He thinks of asking for help once it starts to feel like a habit with no effect on his body or mind. That should worry him right? Steve should really tell someone. But on the third day in a row, when he thinks he might go another sleepless night, he’s pleased to suddenly fall into unconsciousness. The heavy fog in his mind weighing him down into peaceful darkness. Something deep within is terrified but he doesn't dwell on the feeling as sleep welcomes him in with open arms.

Eight days after they defeat Vecna, Steve Harrington unknowingly dies from the wounds on his stomach, in his sleep, in his big house, alone.

–

The next morning, Steve wakes up with full awareness in the second it takes for him to open his eyes.

Despite the night of ‘rest’, he feels, as he looks down at himself with vibrancy he’s never managed before (he swore he might’ve needed glasses before this), weird. Nothing about him feels right.

The sharpness of his sight shocks Steve as they catch dust floating above his head, and his ears are picking up on things suddenly that he’s sure he’d never been able to hear before. The piping in Steve’s house rattles, and his watch, the one he’d thrown half haphazardly onto the bathroom sink counter, clicks mechanically away behind the closed door. The smell of everything around him and the texture of the fabrics rubbing against his skin make him cringe even though he's sure they never used to bother him before.

He thinks maybe he’s losing his mind.

And worst of all is the gnawing hunger in his gut. Because food doesn’t help, there’s nothing in his fridge he can keep down. He craves, but what he craves doesn’t come to mind.

Steve finds himself at the park in Forest Hill.

It's not a place Steve finds himself often. Especially not lately.

But it's a place he knows will be quiet and peaceful as he has a meltdown. His body hasn't decided whether it wants to break apart or not but he’s trembling and his heart is beating so fast and he can hear the blood rushing in his veins. It reminds Steve of the feeling like all of the times he's teetered on the edge of a panic attack.

Steve clutches at his stomach, and licks his lips anxiously.

He's so fucking hungry.

It's painful and all consuming and nothing he does alleviates it.

Steve slides a box of cigarettes out from his back pocket, scowls as his hands shake in front of him and pulls one out along with the lighter stuffed beside it. After setting the end ablaze, he inhales the smoke deeply, holding it there to settle into his lungs. It burns but it’s not painful and he marvels at the amount of smoke he manages to exhale without coughing. It’s nice, and familiar, but doesn’t calm him down. (It doesn’t quell his hunger either.)

He’s on his second cig before the sound of footfalls and crunching leaves captures his attention. His head swivels towards it and there, ambling towards him, is Eddie Munson.

Eddie waves, grinning, and shouts, “Harrington, the hell are you doing out here?”

Steve returns the gesture and drops his butt, stamping the ember out. “Munson, hey, I was just-” And he has to stop, nearly chokes as Eddie moves closer. He realizes he suddenly can’t breathe, wants to inhale too much, feels like he can’t get enough. Saliva begins to pool under his tongue. And that hunger, that hunger, my gods he could eat his own hand. There’s something that pinches the inside of his bottom lip but it’s merely a background thought in his haze.

His feet are moving towards Eddie before he has a chance to think through his actions. He reaches him far quicker than he should’ve and Steve gets Eddie to the ground in one fell swoop, arms out to dig Eddie’s wrists into the dirt.

Pinned down, Eddie yelps helplessly. “What the fuck, dude?” He huffs, struggling under Steve’s iron-like grip.

Eddie’s heart is beating so fast (Steve can hear it), and an acrid stench hit’s Steve’s nose behind the delicious scent of Eddie’s veins. Steve wonders if he’s smelling Eddie’s fear, he can certainly see it. He wants to ask him what he’s so afraid of.

“Steve?”

Steve pauses, inches away from Eddie’s throat, and marvels at the fact that he’d been moving at all. He licks his lips.

“Harrington, what’s wrong with you man?” Eddie’s voice quivers beneath him.

He tries to look away, towards the other man’s eyes, but Steve’s caught on the fluttering of Eddie’s jugular vein. He can’t avert his gaze, instead licks his lips again. “I’m really hungry, Eddie.” His voice comes out more pathetic than he means it too. “It hurts, it won’t go away.”

“Okay,” Eddie starts, hands flexing under the uncomfortable grasp Steve has on them. “Okay, we can… we can get you something to eat, yeah? How ‘bout it?”

“No, no, it won't help,” Steve shakes his head manically, rocking forward, gets impossibly closer. “It won’t help. Tried everything–” He drools, and feels Eddie flinch under him as it drips along his neck. “You smell really good…”

Steve’s grip tightens, he can hear the creaking of Eddie’s bones, and it pulls out a yelp of pain. The acrid stench is everywhere, it burns his nostrils, but he knows once he gets a taste it will all be okay. He knows Eddie won’t be afraid once his lips are around his neck, he knows the pain in his stomach will subside. He needs it to abate or he fears it might kill him. His mouth opens, more drool drips from his teeth, and they start to wrap around the enticing stretch of skin along Eddie’s neck.

“Harrington, Steve– Steve, I'm really scared, man!”

The sound of his name brings him back again, and the terror in Eddie’s voice makes him wrench away. Steve throws himself away, hands over his mouth and nose and he moans loud and long at the stabs of pain ravaging his belly. “Go away, go away, go away,” He mumbles.

Eddie’s up now, Bambi legs knock kneed. “Steve, I want to… I want to help. I don’t really know what’s going on with you, but I think we both know what you need right now.” He starts to stumble closer making Steve curl up on his side. “I just need to know you’re going to stop. I need to know you’re not going to kill me.”

Steve can see Eddie analyzing him as he tries to really think it through. He looks at Eddie, at one of the people he risked his life to save. Someone he could now confidently call a friend. He sees Dustin in Eddie, recognizes the influence and he sees a reminder of hope. And Steve thinks he knows the answer. Can say with near certainty that he can endure this. Won’t indulge. Has had his lifetime in practice on not indulging himself. He nods to Eddie, works his mouth to speak, has a mind to verbally confirm his capability to stop before the point of no return. “I won’t hurt you.”

There’s a wary few seconds where the metal head just stares at him, and he stamps the bout of impatience bubbling in his chest. Then Eddie nods too, and drops to his knees beside him. The long black sleeve covering Eddie’s wrist is pulled up and Steve swallows thickly. “Okay, not too much…” Steve nods, transfixed, and sucks in a breath as Eddie moves his arm up closer to Steve’s lips.

He latches on immediately, teeth sinking into the skin, and delights as blood gushes against his tongue. He moans, can’t help the sounds that are coming out of him as he sucks down the red. A shiver runs down Steve’s spine, and he feels good. Hasn’t felt good in a while, so it’s a welcome change.

When Eddie’s heart starts to beat too slow for comfort, Steve pulls away. He doesn’t think he’s satisfied, but the hunger pains have gone and the fog in his brain has cleared.

“Munson?” Steve calls hesitantly when the other man still hasn’t moved. A groan answers him back, and he sighs in relief. “You need rest.” He says, and it’s more to himself than to Eddie, who might have already fallen asleep.

Steve wipes the blood from his lips on his jacket, and dabs the wound on Eddie’s neck clean the best he can before he scoops the man up in his arms. He’s far lighter than Steve imagined, but he’s sure that has something to do with what's wrong with him now.

He doesn’t take Eddie back home to Wayne, instead carries him all the way back to his house. He lays Eddie down gently on his bed and takes the time to clean the wound better. Steve tries not to think of everything he’s going to have to do, and talk about, and figure out later. He wants to live in blissful ignorance but knows that he can’t. He sits beside the bed and watches the rise and fall of Eddie’s chest, scared he’s completely ruined this friendship. Terrified of the monster he’s become. Wary of the state of his future.

He’s at least very grateful to not be starving anymore.

[rebelspykatie]

Without You

@steddie-week Day Five - Established Relationship 

Link to AO3 | 6.2k | Rated T

He’s on the other side of the house when the phone rings. Hurrying to catch it before it stops, he sprints from the bedroom to the kitchen, grabbing it at the last second.

“Hello, Munson residence,” Steve answers.

“Hi sweetheart,” Eddie says down the line. Just hearing his voice settles something in Steve’s chest, soothing him from afar.

“Eddie!” Steve exclaims. He pauses when he glances at the clock and notices the time. “Why are you calling? I thought you were supposed to be on a plane by now?”

He can’t help the worry that creeps up. Eddie’s been on tour for two months, jet setting across the country to play at little local venues. His record label set something up to get Corroded Coffin’s name on the map after their first album gained some traction.

It’s been difficult being away from each other for this long. Before the tour, they hadn’t been apart for more than a few days at a time. Now, they’re lucky to get a phone call in before approaching bedtimes in different time zones.

And while it’s been challenging, Steve knows that Eddie is happier than ever. He can hear it in his voice every time they’ve talked on the phone. Excitement pours out of him as he details their shows and how they’re meeting real fans that have actually heard their music. Steve doesn’t have to see his face to know he’s beaming on the other end.

Robin is constantly making fun of the way Steve waits by the phone, anticipating Eddie’s calls, when he knows Corroded Coffin has a night off and Eddie can phone him from the privacy of his hotel room. Their house just feels so empty without him there. Steve wanders around in Eddie’s favorite black hoodie, keeping his scent close and finding what comfort he can while Eddie is thousands of miles away.

“So bad news, our flight got delayed,” Eddie pauses for a moment to let that sink in. “Good news is that we should still be home by tomorrow, so we won’t miss the Christmas Eve Extravaganza. We’ll have to meet you there, but we’ll definitely be there.”

“I’m so sorry, love. I know you’re excited about getting home,” Steve twirls the phone cord around his finger. “I’m excited, too. I miss you.”

“I miss you, too, baby,” Eddie sounds so soft when he says it back. The warm feeling settles in Steve’s chest again, the one that’s always there around Eddie.

“I promise I’m coming home to you soon. It’s just this damn weather that won’t cooperate,” he sighs, and Steve can almost picture him. Phone cradled against his ear, running a frustrated hand through his unruly curls, slumping down against the wall beside the payphones.

“It’s okay. A few more hours won’t kill us,” he sighs dramatically, even though Eddie is typically the drama queen in their relationship.

“I’ll see you soon.”

“Love you. Have a safe flight and I’ll see you at the party, okay?”

“Sure thing, sweetheart. Love you, too.” And with that the line goes dead.

He can’t help the disappointment that washes over him after receiving that news. He was hoping to have a night alone with Eddie before the chaos of the next few days. They have a packed schedule, from the Christmas Eve Extravaganza at the Byers-Hopper residence, to the sleepover with Robin and Nancy that has become their Christmas Eve tradition, to Christmas morning with Wayne the following day. It’s likely they won’t get any time to themselves until two days from now.

But he’s not going to let that get him down, he’s about to see Eddie again for the first time in two months. It doesn’t matter who’s there or watching, he’s going to tackle Eddie in the biggest hug he’s ever received and kiss the everloving daylights out of him. The kids and Robin can give him shit about it for the rest of eternity for all he cares, he’s missed Eddie with a ferocity he didn’t know existed.

Putting the change in plans out of his mind, he makes his way back to their home gym to finish his workout. He’ll just distract himself until tomorrow and it’ll be here before he knows it.

Continue on AO3

[bit-odd-innit]

Everything stays

Eddie runs a one-shot for Dustin's 18th birthday.

Dustin crashes into the apartment at a quarter to seven. Steve greets him first, a bowl of Chex Mix balanced on his hip and smugness sculpting his features.

“You’re laaaaaate,” he taunts cheerily. 

“It’s not my fault parking in your apartment complex is dogshit.”

“Hm. No one else seemed to have that problem.”

Everyone is there. Max and Lucas TK, Mike and will Tk, Erica Robin and El Tk, Nancy coming later. 

Dustin tears off his windbreaker and whips it to the ground. 

“Man.” Steve huffs, stooping to retrieve it. “You can’t even attempt to throw that in the direction of the coatrack?”

“Oh like how you attempted to tidy up before having people over?”

“Okay One: If you think I won’t kick you out of your own birthday party you are mistaken. Two: Tidy up is relative when you’re in the middle of moving. And Three: There is a clear delineation between THIS—” He hooks his thumb toward the neat stack of cardboard boxes, each meticulously labeled in blocky black Sharpie. “—and THIS—“ He thrusts his arms at the enormous, unfathomable pile of Eddie’s Stuff.

“I have a system,” Eddie says, materializing at Steve’s side. 

“Oh yeah, what a system. Step one, put stuff on ground. Step two.” He pauses, then clamps his hands on Eddie’s shoulders and shakes him. “There is no step two.” 

Eddie taps one finger against his own temple. “If you were up here with me this would all make sense.”

Steve’s hands slide up to cradle Eddie’s jaw and he tilts his face down to press a kiss, tenderly, to the space between Eddie’s eyebrows. 

“If I were up there with you.” He murmurs into his skin, his tone syrupy sweet. “I would burn that place to the ground.”

Eddie shoves him, and Steve shoves him back, and soon they’re locked in a giggly grapple, hands roaming harmlessly across shoulders, arms, chests, faces dipping closer until—

Robin pries them apart like she’s breaking up a fight between two feral alley cats. 

“Oh my God get a room.”

“We did get a room! All of these rooms are our rooms!”

“Until the 31st anyway.”